


Emergencies

by CMRandles



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aliens, Blood Diamonds (in Space), Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mostly-Naked Aliens, Pining, Sick Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMRandles/pseuds/CMRandles
Summary: Sometimes it seemed like emergencies only came at the most inconvenient hours. It was always when McCoy was sleeping that someone fell off the scaffolding in Engineering, or got bit by a hostile plant on an away mission. No one ever seemed to need attention when he was awake, alert, and had a few cups of coffee in his system.In which Leonard McCoy treats a plague, Spock dresses oddly, and the two are thrown into close quarters leading to some unforeseen complications.





	Emergencies

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me after too many late-night TOS binge-watches. I started trying to imagine how McCoy and Spock would have a sensible, sexy, grown-up discussion of sexual limits and preferences and somehow a plot sprung up around that. Like, a lot of plot. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Sometimes it seemed like emergencies only came at the most inconvenient hours. It was always when McCoy was sleeping that someone fell off the scaffolding in Engineering, or got bit by a hostile plant on an away mission. No one ever seemed to need attention when he was awake, alert, and had a few cups of coffee in his system.

Today was no different. Summoned to the bridge in the middle of what might otherwise have been a peaceful sleep, McCoy mustered enough energy to drag himself out of bed and throw on a clean uniform before riding the turbo-lift up. Once there he found Spock, who was also off shift, standing alert and ready, not a single hair out of place. Not for the first time, McCoy envied the man his Vulcan physiology. Not that he would ever admit it, even under penalty of death.

"What's so important you had to interrupt my beauty rest?" He asked, leaning against the back of the Captain's chair.

"We've received a distress signal from another Federation vessel. The USS Jefferson, currently stationed on Ulmexis IV. They were there to negotiate a treaty of some kind with the natives when a virus broke out and now it's taken over the entire ship."

McCoy straightened up." The Jefferson? Isn't Dr. MacPherson their CMO? She and I went to med school together, she's sharp as a tack. If anyone can lick this thing, it's her."

Jim turned in his seat, his expression grave." She was the first to go, Bones. I'm sorry."

McCoy scrubbed his hands over his face, and tried to remember Liz MacPherson from so many years ago. His faulty aging memory provided only a fragmented image of warm brown eyes and a ponytail of auburn hair. She had gotten straight A's in every course, all seemingly without any effort, that he definitely remembered. The idea of her erased from the universe fell like a stone in his gut. 

"It spread through the ship after that, more than half the crew is either dead or in the infirmary. They enacted quarantine protocols, but not soon enough, apparently. Someone managed to flag us down, though. We're on course to provide aid," Jim continued. 

"How long until we get there?" 

"We will arrive in twenty-one point seven hours," Spock provided immediately, his voice monotone. McCoy had almost forgotten he was there, standing just over his shoulder. 

McCoy sighed. "Send me what you have on the virus and I'll start putting together some models. There's only so much I can do without an actual patient, but I can start doing my homework at least."

Jim nodded, but his expression was stern. "Use full quarantine procedure, Bones. This is nasty stuff and the last thing we need is for you to get infected."

"I can't decide if I'm insulted or touched," he replied, forcing a smile he didn't feel. 

"If, as you said, Doctor MacPherson was a superior physician and she still succumbed there is no reason to believe you will not meet the same fate without additional safety measures, Doctor," Spock said. 

"Definitely insulted, then."

That made Jim crack a tiny smile, which he smothered with his 'very professional expression' almost immediately. He turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, you'll take over negotiations with the Ulmexians once we arrive. Lieutenant Uhura will brief you on their customs and culture so you are up to speed."

"Affirmative."

McCoy glanced at Spock and received a raised eyebrow in return. The pointy-eared bastard was daring him to question, to argue, but McCoy was too weary to take the bait. Spock was an unusual diplomatic choice, but the doctor had bigger fish to fry at the moment. A whole kettle of them, it seemed. 

 

The more he read about the alien race they were about to encounter, the more discomfited McCoy became. They were, at least, humanoid and not so physiologically different from the people of Earth, which should aid in their treatment. It was the makeup of their brains, rather than their bodies, that troubled him. The Ulmexian's brains were devoid of such familiar landmarks as the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex, the side effects of which included no emotional affect whatsoever. This was an entire race of people who never laughed, cried, or raged. Humanoid computers crunching the numbers and weighing the options without any further entanglements. No wonder Spock was the one Kirk picked to continue the negotiations. He would fit right in. 

McCoy was therefore relieved that he would only be dealing with fellow Starfleet officers as he treated patients aboard the Jefferson. Spock could handle the computers, McCoy was much more comfortable with bedside manner.

He was working in the lab, synthesizing possible cures for the alien virus when the doors whooshed open and admitted Spock, hands folded behind his back.

McCoy stepped back from the worktable, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"The time is 0300. We are two hours away from Ulmex IV. The Captain recommends that we rest for the remainder of the voyage so as to be adequately prepared for our duties."

"Let me guess, Vulcans don't require sleep so you're here to bully me into caring for my inferior human needs."

Spock's eyebrow quirked. "A surprisingly accurate assessment, Doctor."

McCoy chuckled, turning back to his work. "Well, I think I've done all I can here so it's probably a good time for a break. Not that I'm taking your orders, mind you."

"I will ensure that your exercise in free will is noted in my report," Spock replied dryly.

"See that it is," He answered, grinning.

Things between them had been...not easy, necessarily, but better. More positive, less infuriating. McCoy found himself almost looking forward to their discussions, unconsciously perking up whenever Spock approached him in the dining hall or the lounge after they were off shift. They still argued like cats and dogs, but it seemed more lighthearted these days and McCoy ended up laughing more often than not, while Spock's eyebrow twitched upward in a way that McCoy had come to associate with amusement. It was nice, really, the kind of cease-fire they had negotiated. 

Spock was still standing in the lab watching him expectantly, so McCoy heaved a sigh and started packing away his instruments. "You planning to tuck me in, Spock?" 

"I intend to see that the Captain's orders are carried out, though I doubt such intrusive measures will be required."

"I should hope not," McCoy answered, sliding off his stool and making his way to the door. His imagination conjured an image of Spock tucking him into bed, kissing his forehead before turning out the lights. It was sweet, but unsettling in a way he didn't care to examine further. 

Now that his mind was off of work, McCoy could feel genuine weariness sapping the strength from his body. He stifled a yawn as Spock strolled alongside him to the turbolift. 

"So, the Ulmexians. You'll fit right in with them, I expect."

Spock nodded. "I do believe my particular temperament will be compatible with their culture."

"Better you than me, that's all I know. Hell, you might even learn a thing or two from them, Spock."

Spock glanced at him and seemed almost annoyed. "As I have informed you on three separate occasions, Doctor, Vulcan are capable of feeling emotions. In many cases our emotions are of a greater intensity than even your human ones. We pride ourselves on exercising the mental control necessary to process the emotions as they arise, rather than letting them corrupt our rationality and judgment. The Ulmexians, by contrast, are physically incapable of creating emotions. Their brains are simply not wired for it. Therefore, while I am curious about their culture and customs, I fail to see any useful information I might glean from them in terms of greater self-control."

McCoy rolled his eyes."I didn't actually need the lecture, you know. My point is that you'll fit right in. Personally, I'm glad the closest I'm getting to that heartless place is the sickbay of the Jefferson."

"You would prefer to risk contracting a deadly virus to interacting with an advanced race such as the Ulmexians?" Spock asked. 

"You bet your pointed ears," McCoy said firmly. The doors to the turbolift swooshed open and he stepped out, glancing back just in time to see Spock's slight frown. 

"Highly illogical," he pronounced as the doors shut again. 

McCoy just chuckled, turning to drag himself back to bed once more. 

 

The Jefferson was in a terrible state. Over half the crew were either dead or in critical condition in the quarantined section of sickbay. The poor medical staff was so overwhelmed many of them had been working for 48 hours straight without even a meal break. McCoy brought some of his own personnel along just so the Jefferson's medical staff could snatch some R&R. 

Kirk had partnered with the Jefferson's captain, a narrow-faced frowning human man named Rogers, and brought on a host of Enterprise crew members to lend a hand in other badly understaffed areas of the ship. Rogers, Kirk, and Spock had sequestered themselves in a conference room immediately, conferring over the problem of negotiating with the Ulmexians. 

He hated the medical quarantine suits that his crew and he were forced into. The thick gloves made dexterity impossible and the crinkly fabric clung, making him sweat through his uniform underneath. He might have ripped the damn thing off were it not for the image of Dr. MacPherson lying cold and still in the morgue that stopped him. She had been a better student than McCoy, and probably a better doctor, and look what had happened to her. 

It took nearly two full days before all of the patients were stabilized. The primary symptom of the virus seemed to be instintaneous and critical dehydration, which, depending on the overall health of the patient, kicked off a whole host of comorbidities. They were using up saline drips as quickly as they could replicate them, but the more fluids they pumped into the comatose Starfleet officers, the more their condition improved.

McCoy was supposed to be sleeping, or eating, or some such, but was instead sitting with two of the Jefferson's science officers in Lab 1, trying to synthesize a solution. The idea had occurred to him in the dead of night when sick bay had finally fallen quiet, and he had been working it over in his mind ever since like a dog with a bone. 

"See, they used to equip humans with this compound when they were sent to Vulcan or some other godforsaken desert place, to use in case of severe dehydration. If we can bump up the oxygenation just so, it might do the trick to help the sick crewmembers," he explained to the science officers, pointing out the schematics on the PADD set in front of them. "If we can sort this out for the humans then we can adjust it for the others as well." 

"An elegant solution, Doctor," said a deep voice from behind him. 

McCoy turned, smiling in greeting, and froze. For a long moment words failed even his Southern tongue. Behind him, the science officers cleared their throats and turned back to work, a faint blush painting the young woman's face. 

"What in the world are you wearing?" McCoy exclaimed, once his neurons started firing appropriately once more. "Or, the better question might be what you're not wearing." 

Spock glanced down at himself, clad only in a pair of tight black shorts - what they might have called "daisy dukes" back in Georgia - and a pair of woven sandals. The rest of him, acres of muscle and sinew and skin, was on full display. He had chest hair, little curly black whorls over his pectorals, how had McCoy not noticed that before? 

"This is a common Ulmexian garb, Doctor. I elected to dress in this style to show respect for their culture." 

"Don't leave much to the imagination, do they?" McCoy said, wincing as his voice cracked. 

"That is precisely the point. Ulmexians do not experience shame, and such garments allow them to fully assess a potential mate's physiology so that they may choose a genetically compatible partner with whom to procreate." 

The female science officer spluttered loudly. 

"A fascinating race," Spock continued, standing with his arms clasped behind his back as though he weren't 99% naked standing in the science lab of the USS Jefferson. 

"Well, at least we know I was right about you fitting in," McCoy said, trying to find somewhere safe to look. "Is there something I can help you with, Spock?" 

"Actually, Doctor, there is. I came aboard to speak with you about an urgent matter that has halted the flow of my negotiations with the Ulmexians." 

"And that is?" 

"They are dying." 

McCoy froze. "Not them too." 

Spock nodded. "It would appear that the virus mutated in some fashion and has been making its way through the Ulmexian capital city. They have not revealed to me the extent of the damage, but I gather from my conversations with the Ulmexian High Commander that a great many lives have already been lost. I extracted permission to bring you down to the planet's surface in order to treat the virus as you have for the people of the Jefferson." 

"We haven't exactly got it licked here, either, Spock. I'm hoping if we can get these people hydrated and keep them that way then the virus'll run its course, but that's still just a theory." 

"If it is a matter of waiting at this juncture then I see no reason why your presence would be required further on the Jefferson. We will stay in communication with the ship and you will be immediately informed if anything changes in the status of your patients here. It is the logical course to try and save as many lives as possible." 

"Oh yeah, logical. What do the Ulmexians even care if their people die? They don't have feelings." 

"You are correct, in a sense. The Ulmexian High Commander would likely not have alerted me to the virus at all had the death toll not been so severe. I convinced him to see the logic in saving the lives that remained rather than having to rebuild their society from a greatly reduced number." 

McCoy sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I don't like helping people who don't want to be helped, Spock." 

"But you do value life, Doctor." 

Spock didn't say 'gotcha!' but his eyebrow quirked and the corner of his mouth tugged up just the slightest bit. A lot of feelings uncoiled inside McCoy in that moment, but he was too weary to pick them apart. He just threw up his hands and said, "Well, you've got me there. Let me just hand things over to the second in command in sick bay and I'll join you. But I'm not wearing...that," he gestured vaguely at Spock's groin, which was the only covered part of him. 

"Understandable. I believe you should continue with quarantine measures as you have done on the Jefferson, as the mutated virus may still be contagious." 

"Aw hell," McCoy groused, "I'd almost rather wear nothing at all than that damn hot suit." 

"It may comfort you that to do so would not offend the Ulmexians in any way," Spock said, and seemed gratified by McCoy's answering chuckle. 

"Must be liberating to be around a race incapable of being offended." 

"It is a fascinating experience," Spock said, and McCoy believed he meant it. Those dark eyes of his were practically sparkling. 

Somehow, McCoy didn't get the sense that he would feel the same about meeting the Ulmexians. 

 

As it turned out, he needn't have bothered with the containment suit. The closest he came to any of the affected Ulmexians was the audience chamber of the Ulmexian High Commander, standing awkwardly in the bottom half of the crinkly suit and getting exactly nowhere. 

There was a kind of sterile beauty about the Ulmexians, with their flawless lavender skin and their long naked heads. They seemed to have no hair of any kind, and McCoy didn't have to wonder very much about the musculoskeletal makeup of their bodies as they were all wearing the little black hotpants which Spock had also donned. By human standards they were a muscular race, their bodies smooth and toned, and McCoy was instantly glad it was Spock here and not Kirk because no doubt that would have turned into an intergalactic scandal sooner rather than later. Though they were aesthetically beautiful, McCoy found himself disliking the Ulmexians on sight, not only because of the terminal impassivity of their faces, but because they somehow still managed to convey disgust towards him even without feeling the emotion. 

"I'm a doctor," he explained for what felt like the fourth time, "If I'm going to help your pipe get better, I need to examine them personally."

The Ulmexian High Commander, his rank denoted only by a sprinkle of glitter over his high brow, looked inquiringly at Spock, who stood stiffly at McCoy's side, still practically nude. "Does it perceive us to be incapable of hearing? We have explained that what it's asking is impossible and agreed to provide samples of all relevant bodily fluids for examination and treatment. I do not see why it persists in this line of inquiry."

The words were spoken in a flat tenor that got under McCoy's skin like nothing else. The "it" they were referring to was him, of course, a term they didn't use when talking about Spock, who still got to be "him". 

"It is customary Starfleet procedure for a medical professional to examine patients personally, High Commander. Doctor McCoy is attempting to explain himself so that he may follow protocol."

It was becoming difficult to reign in his temper, and being discussed like a distant science project by these robots was not helping the situation. The plastic containment suit crinkled as McCoy clenched and unclenched his fists. 

"Impossible," the High Commander proclaimed, "We will not allow our beings to be further exposed. It has been treating sick people aboard the starship and will be carrying unknown pathogens."

"That's why-" McCoy attempted to interject but was overrun by the High Commander, whose unsettling flat black eyes met his. 

"The Doctor will be permitted to return to your starship with the samples provided and will return to us with a cure."

"With all due respect," McCoy growled, "how am I supposed to administer said cure if I can't get near your people?"

"With all due respect," echoed the High Commander with a decided lack of respect, "we have our own healers and they can administer a simple antidote." 

McCoy forced his mouth to stay shut and gave only a curt nod, his stomach churning with fury. Another Ulmexian, a female this time with only a single strip of black fabric stretched across the fullness of her breasts, stepped forward bearing a kind of toolbox. Inside were organized vials of what McCoy guessed must be infected Ulmexian's blood. He accepted it from her, carefully averting his gaze from her nakedness. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Spock become suddenly interested in the ceiling. 

"You are dismissed," the High Commander said with a wave of his hand, and McCoy hustled out of the room, holding the kit tightly in one sweaty gloved fist. Spock nodded respectfully to the High Commander and followed, walking at a measured pace. 

When they were alone, walking down the unmarked hall back towards the planet's cold exterior where they could be beamed back aboard the Enterprise, McCoy turned to his companion. "Remind me again why I didn't just stay on the Jefferson where my help was actually wanted?"

Spock stilled in the anteroom, forcing McCoy to halt his angry pacing so they could talk. His expression was neutral as ever, save for a tightness at the corner of his mouth that McCoy interpreted as a show of frustration. "The Ulmexians are a private people, Doctor. My research has also uncovered that they have a high degree of psychic sensitivity and may have reason to believe that your...emotionality may adversely affect the afflicted beings." 

McCoy snorted indignantly, but allowed him to continue. 

"However, I also have reason to believe that the virus has reached pandemic proportions amongst the Ulmexians and therefore drastic measures would be appropriate. Their reluctance to accept your council at this juncture belies arrogance rather than privacy." 

"Are you agreeing with me?" 

Spock glanced at him, eyebrow raised. "I believe that is what I said." 

That wrung a smile out of McCoy, who was suddenly feeling hollowed out with weariness. He glanced at the container of vials, sighing. "I guess I had better get to work. I'll let you know how I make out, though I have to say that it's probably not going to be worth a damn if I can't actually examine any of the patients." 

"Understood. I will reiterate my concerns to the High Commander at an appropriate juncture." 

McCoy sighed again, looking around the empty anteroom. It really was empty. There was no art anywhere on Ulmexis, not even a flared column in the structure of their buildings. Everything was blank stone, formed into unremarkable geometric shapes. Sterile, that's what it was, even more than an operating room. It made him uncomfortable at a psychic level, this unfriendly environment. When McCoy looked up, Spock was regarding him evenly and did not look away when their eyes met. It struck the doctor as odd that the Vulcan, normally so efficient, hadn't already moved on to his next item of business. He seemed unusually predisposed to lingering in McCoy's presence these days. 

"What are we trading with them for, anyway?" 

"Belcizonian," Spock answered. 

McCoy goggled at him. "Gemstones? Are you serious?" 

"An illogical question, as humor would be inappropriate in this situation." 

McCoy spluttered, wishing he had somewhere to sit, wanting to put his head in his hands. The containment suit crinkled loudly as he threw his hand up in frustration. "So, dozens of people on board the Jefferson, a damn good doctor included, died so that we could trade these heartless robots for their sparkling trinkets?" 

"Belcizonian is rare and immensely valuable. Starfleet will trade these raw stones for necessary equipment and services." 

"Ridiculous, that's what it is," McCoy snarled. "And what are they getting from us in exchange?" 

Spock's eyes shifted to the side, a detail that did not escape the doctor's notice. "Information." 

"About?" 

"For all that the Ulmexians are an advanced race, their technological understanding is limited. The Federation is willing to barter with information that will considerably advance their interstellar travel pursuits." 

McCoy shook his head. "Is someone getting a little shaky on the Prime Directive?" 

"I am merely continuing the negotiations that Captain Rogers initiated with the Ulmexians. He was authorized to negotiate with them with the full backing of Starfleet and-" 

"Settle down, settle down," McCoy said, "Believe it or not, I'm not in the mood to argue with you. I'm just tired and pissed off, and in need of coffee." 

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, causing the muscles to shift in his chest and stomach, an area that McCoy had studiously avoided noticing throughout their interaction. "Perhaps it is best, then, for you to return to the Enterprise." 

"Yeah," McCoy answered. "You coming?" 

"I must remain here to continue negotiations." 

"It's probably for the best," McCoy said, flipping open his communicator, "if Chapel saw you dressed like that she'd have an aneurism." 

 

It wasn't long before he was back again, standing before the Ulmexian High Commander, this time dressed in his Starfleet uniform. He had briefly considered and rejected the notion of putting on a pair of the Ulmexian's little shorts, even as a show of respect.

He stood in the chilly stone room and pled his case as the High Commander stared him down, his expressionless face as inviting as a prickly pear. "If you want your people to get better, you're going to have to let me examine even one of them. I have to take some measurements, with my own instruments, it's something I can only do firsthand."

"We provided you with samples-"

"And those are very helpful," McCoy made himself say, "but I need additional data that I can only collect myself. I appreciate that this seems like an invasion of your privacy, but it's just the way we operate in Starfleet and I don't see any other way around it. We're seeing great results from the work we've done with the crew of the Jefferson. If everything proceeds as it has, their remaining crew will make a full recovery."

He paused, letting that statement make its full impact. The High Commander's face didn't so much as twitch.

"Is it your assertion you can do the same for my beings?" He asked.

"All I'm asking for is the opportunity to try, sir."

There was a great deal of activity near the back of the chamber as the door opened to admit Spock, still wearing that ridiculous outfit (or lack of one), who strode quickly over to McCoy. The doctor had not bothered to inform his companion that he would be seeking another audience with the High Commander, and he could see now that Spock did not appreciate being left out of the loop.

The High Commander ignored Spock's presence, focused instead on McCoy. "Very well, Doctor. I will see that you are granted access to one of the affected beings. Only one."

It wasn't perfect, but it was something. McCoy wasn't going to argue with progress. "Thank you," he said.

"You will stay here on our planet as you conduct your tests and will be supervised at all times by your companion, Spock."

McCoy frowned. "I'm a professional, I don't need a babysitter."

"Here, you do. You've made it clear that you disapprove of our ways and disrespect our culture by wearing your uniform in this space."

McCoy winced, regretting his decision.

"Spock is a rational being, respectful of our history and our ways. He will remain with you at all times while you are on our planet. This requirement is not negotiable."

"All right," he said after a moment.

"Dismissed," the High Commander said, waving his hand. McCoy was getting pretty damn sick of being sent away like he was nothing, utterly beneath the notice of these so-called superior beings. He also didn't love the idea of being followed around by Spock everywhere he went on the planet, but at the same time he realized that it was certainly better than having one of the Ulmexians, with their lack of boundaries and emotions, constantly invading his space. Spock didn't exactly look happy about the arrangement either, but then Spock didn't look happy about much of anything. However, McCoy knew him well enough to know that Spock looked especially displeased right now - and with him in particular.

They didn't get a chance to discuss the issue, because one of the Ulmexian honor guard approached McCoy with a pair of their standard-issue garments and an unfriendly expression.

"You will share quarters with Spock during your time here. And you will wear these."

McCoy didn't bother to argue, accepting the slip of fabric. "Do you have laboratory facilities that I can make use of? It doesn't seem very efficient for me to go back and forth to the ship while I'm here."

The Ulmexian regarded him with dark, inquisitive eyes. "We have facilities that will suit your purpose, but you are not to go anywhere unaccompanied."

"Yeah, I heard that the first time," McCoy said, unable to suppress this small burst of temper.

"I will assist Doctor McCoy in his work," Spock said smoothly, standing at his elbow. "I wish to arrange a meeting with the High Commander for this afternoon. Is he available?"

The honor guard looked at him, sniffed and said, "No." Then he turned on his heel and walked away, back to the little cluster of beings standing around the High Commander's austere throne.

"Awfully touchy, aren't they, for people who can't feel any emotions," McCoy said.

Spock glared at him. "You've given them great offense, Doctor. You should have spoken to me before accepting an audience with the High Commander. I could have briefed you on the appropriate protocol and our negotiations would not be set back in this way."

"They also could have just let me see their people in the first place and we wouldn't be in this position either," McCoy replied sourly, unwilling to let the burden rest entirely on his shoulders. The Ulmexians were as difficult to work with as any race he'd ever encountered and he'd be damned if the pointy-eared contrarian was going to lay these difficulties on his doorstep.

"It is pointless to debate hypotheticals," Spock said, "You must change and I must update the Captain regarding the status of our mission."

"Throw me under the bus, you mean."

Spock's eyebrow hoisted a few millimeters higher. "I do not see the relevance of ancient Terran modes of conveyance in this situation."

"Nevermind, damn it. Show me where you're staying. Or, where *we're* staying, I guess." McCoy grumbled, and let himself be led away.

 

Ulmexis IV was a cold place, and not just the interpersonal relationships. The actual planet's temperature was lower than McCoy would have liked, especially now that the was walking around in only tiny shorts and sandals. His skin broke out in gooseflesh immediately, his nipples hardening into knots that he didn't think would release anytime soon.

The room he and Spock now shared was as utilitarian as he might have expected; no more than a bed (which looked hard and unpleasant), a single chair, and a small stone table next to it. The rest of the space was empty, without even a throw rug to liven it up. Spock had taken the only chair, while McCoy got changed, stashing his Starfleet uniform on a shelf in what passed for the bathroom for later use. McCoy was forced to stand awkwardly by the door, desperately uncomfortable and unsure what he should do with his hands.

Spock glanced up, gave him a once-over, and stood. "I am to accompany you as you visit the patient." Those dark, liquid eyes lingered on McCoy's chest, his legs, and the feeling of exposure grew exponentially. McCoy, at least, had possessed the decency not to stare when he'd first seen Spock in this getup - couldn't the Vulcan return the favor? He glanced at the single bed in the corner and began to sweat, no longer freezing but bordering on panic.

"Can't be trusted on my own, I might infect them all with my sentimentality," McCoy said to fill the silence, stalking towards the door. Spock followed at a respectful distance, hands clasped behind his back.

It took only a moment to realize that he had no idea where they were going. Spock waited for him to come to this realization and slid easily into command, leading McCoy down the unremarkable stone corridors towards the center of the compound, an area he had not yet been permitted to access. The Ulmexians they passed paid them no attention, focused on their individual tasks. No one smiled. He realized that if he and Spock were marooned here for any reason it might be a lifetime until he saw another friendly face. The prospect was bleak, and McCoy put it out of his mind.

McCoy had brought medical supplies with him in a small rucksack, which he slung across his bare chest and would not be parted with, no matter how much these damn aliens got their feelings hurt. He clutched the strap in one fist, grounding himself against the unreality of this strange place. Spock stopped suddenly, nearly causing McCoy to collide with his back. He instinctively put out a hand, which landed on the hot skin at the small of Spock's back. They only touched for half a second, but it was enough for McCoy to feel like he had been scalded. His fingers faintly tingled at the points of contact. Spock held himself stiffly, stepping a foot away and gesturing at the entrance.

"This is where you are to examine the patient," he said, his voice clipped.

McCoy stepped into the room, empty as usual, save for a bed-like structure in the center of the room. For a moment, McCoy thought he had been duped and there was no patient at all, until he noticed the small shape curled in on itself under the blankets. One small purple hand lay atop the stark white covers.

"A child," he said, struck dumb by the realization.

"That would appear to be the case," Spock said from beside him. His tone was gentler, perhaps even a little surprised.

McCoy extracted the medical tricorder from his bag and approached the small figure. "Hello," he said, when he was about a foot away. The figure in the bed did not stir. "Hello there," he said more loudly, and reached to draw back the covers.

The child was curled on her side, head surrounded by a cloud of long hair the color of a ripe eggplant. Her eyelashes were long and dark against her cheeks, and she did not stir when McCoy shook her shoulder gently. Her skin was freezing cold through the thin robe she wore. McCoy frowned, glancing at Spock who gave a kind of half-shrug.

"It would appear the child is unconscious."

"Is that your medical opinion?" McCoy snarked.

"She is not responding to-"

"Shut up," he snapped, "let me work."

McCoy pulled the covers back from the child's body and rearranged her so that she was lying on her back. A strand of hair fell across her face, which was so cherubic and angelic it could have been a painting. Thoughts of his own daughter, once so small and innocent, floated across McCoy's mind, but he chased them away. He needed to focus right now, and getting sentimental would not help. He fired up the tricorder and ran it over her body, frowning as the readings began to spool out on the machine. He laid two fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse point and shocked again by the coldness of her purple skin. The pulse was there, faint and fluttering, straining against some unseen force. *Hang in there* he thought desperately.

Spock stood at his elbow, clearly repressing the urge to lean over and read the measurements on the tricorder. After a moment, McCoy handed him the instrument, heaving a sigh.

"Nothing looks normal, but not abnormal enough to tell us anything. Heart rate, blood pressure, and blood oxygenation are all lower than expected, but nothing immediately jumps out at me."

Spock was intently focused on the tricorder, his brow furrowed. McCoy looked back at the little girl, brushing the strand of hair off of her face, and tucking her back under the blankets.

"She'll die within the week if we don't do something," he said quietly.

"Her body temperature is considerably beneath normal tolerances," Spock said, leaning in to show McCoy the reading. By contrast to the Ulmexian girl, Spock's own body was a furnace, and McCoy unconsciously leaned closer, eager to soak up the warmth. His fingertips tingled, and he wished again for pockets that he could use to stuff the treacherous appendages away. He needed to keep himself from reaching out.

"The symptoms are nearly identical to those affecting the crew of the Jefferson," Spock observed, his gaze distant as the wheels in his mind turned.

"Those people were all severely dehydrated. Her readings don't indicate any lack of fluids."

"The Ulmexians do not require hydration in the same way as humans, or even other humanoid races. They can go weeks or even a month without water, whereas most humanoids would perish within days. Perhaps the dehydration is present, but not acute."

McCoy considered this. "Well, it can't hurt to give her some more fluids and see what happens. But it seems like there's something else at play here, something neurological. I'm going to take some readings of her brain specifically. Damn, I wish I could bring her back to the Enterprise - the equipment there would be really helpful right about now."

He scanned the girl's head, and then her full body again just in case anything had changed, but of course nothing had. He was really just prolonging their exit, not wanting to abandon this small innocent being. Eventually, he ran out of things to do, and put the tricorder away, sighing deeply.

"Spock," he said, "I want you to do something for me."

"If it is within my power, Doctor, I will help you." Spock answered without hesitation, so much so that it startled McCoy who had expected an argument. He smothered the smile that was trying to take over his face, and took a deep breath.

"Show me where the rest of the patients are."

Though he showed no outward sign, Spock seemed discomfited. "If we are caught, it will set negotiations back even further."

"Forget your negotiations! These people are dying. I have to help them, Spock, whether they like it or not. I need you to help me."

The Vulcan drew in a deep breath and furrowed his brow. "Very well. I have not seen where the affected Ulmexians are being held, but I will lead you to where I suspect they are. If we are questioned on the way, you must defer to me."

"I'll let you do all the talking," McCoy promised, grinning. He made himself add, "Thank you, Spock."

"Loss of life when such can be avoided is pointless, and therefore illogical," was the only reply.

McCoy was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but he needn't have worried. They encountered no other Ulmexians as they prowled down the stone corridors, and Spock walked with confidence, as though he owned the place. Eventually they walked down a narrow corridor that opened into a large windowless chamber that was dark as a tomb. It was utterly silent, such that McCoy's own breathing sounded loud in his ears.

"Spock?" he asked, once they were inside.

"I am here, Doctor," came the familiar voice.

McCoy pulled out his tricorder, and turned it on, navigating by the scant light of the instrument. His thighs slammed into something that turned out to be a stone table, and as he tried to regain his balance he touched something terribly cold. An Ulmexian. He shone the light down and saw another small face, this one with short-cropped aubergine hair. Another child.

"I think we're in the right place," he said.

McCoy walked slowly, moving from bed to bed and examining each patient he countered. At first the trend seemed only anecdotal, and he hoped with each revelation the pattern would be broken. But once he had seen ten separate beds all with children tucked in them, he knew he had to face facts.

"Spock, they're all children," he breathed, his voice breaking with horror.

"That would appear to be the case," Spock answered from a few feet away.

"Christ," McCoy said, and had to lean against the edge of one of the children's beds lest he fall over. "They didn't even want our help, Spock. You had to *convince* them to let us help meanwhile there's at least three dozen in here, some of whom barely have a pulse anymore!"

"The Ulmexians do not have an inherent emotional attachment to their children, Doctor."

"I don't care! This is barbaric!" McCoy's voice was coming in harsh gasps. He looked down on the bed he was leaning against and saw his daughter's face, smooth and peaceful as in death. He recoiled, running into another bed and dropping the tricorder with a loud clatter.

"Are you well, Doctor?" Spock asked, and there was a soft noise as he approached.

"I need...I can't be in here. I need to get out of here," he turned, but was unable to find the door. He was trapped, like a rat in a maze, and panic was snapping at his heels. "Spock?!"

"I am here," the reassuring baritone said, right at his elbow. Spock reached out and clasped his bare shoulder briefly, before squatting down to retrieve the tricorder. The screen lent his angular features an eerie green tint. McCoy groped for him and found Spock's hand, holding on tightly.

"Don't leave me," he said, hating himself for this moment of weakness.

"I do not intend to," Spock answered, and did not pull away. His hand was warm, comforting in its solidity. He gently led McCoy through the maze of beds and back into the dimly lit narrow corridor. Once they were back in the light, McCoy dropped his hand and knelt down, putting his head between his legs to avoid blacking out. Spock knelt beside him, but did not touch him. "Are you well?"

"No, I'm not fucking well! I just...that whole room is full of children, Spock! Children! And they're just going to..." he spluttered on the words, and forced himself to take a deep breath. "It's unconscionable."

Spock did not reply. They rose together after a few moments once McCoy had collected himself. Fear had turned to fury, which burned unchecked inside him. He didn't announce his intention, but Spock seemed to know it, and laid a hand on his shoulder before McCoy could storm off.

"We must refrain from apply our own morality on an alien culture, Doctor."

McCoy's blue eyes flashed and he pulled himself away. "Watch me!"

"I don't give a damn if he's unavailable," McCoy shouted, shoving aside the female Ulmexian who tried to keep him from the High Commander's private chambers. If she hadn't been a woman, he might have punched her out of sheer frustration. Instead, he stormed to the closed door and yanked it open hard enough to bounce off the opposite wall. Spock was there right behind him, still trying to stop him, still trying to talk him out of it, but they were way past that.

The scene inside the High Commander's quarters, identical to room they had assigned to he and Spock in every way, tempered McCoy's ire with shock, but only momentarily. The High Commander, stripped of even his meager clothing, was engaged in sexual intercourse with a busty female, and did not immediately stop upon being interrupted. Unlike a human, who might have been shocked or angry, or even ashamed, the Ulmexians simply looked at McCoy standing in the doorway and continued to rut together for another ten seconds. McCoy averted his eyes, blushing fiercely.

"I need to speak with you, High Commander."

"I am engaged."

"Yes, I can see, that, but I need to interrupt," McCoy insisted.

The High Commander pulled himself away and left the bed without so much as glancing at the female, who still lay prone, looking bored. He approached McCoy, still completely nude, and looked expectant. "I am listening."

McCoy had forgotten what he was planning to say. There were a lot of expletives, he knew that, but now he could scarcely summon any of it to mind. But then he thought of the little girl in that stone room, the strand of dark hair across her cheek, and felt his anger resurge like an erupting volcano.

"Children, they are all children," he said through gritted teeth.

"You speak of the afflicted beings?"

"Yes, I damn well do. How many children are there? Two, or three dozen?"

The High Commander crossed his arms. "In your terms, there are two hundred and thirty."

McCoy physically staggered. "And you were...you were planning to do nothing?! Before Spock forced me on you, that is. You would rather just let them die than seek assistance?"

"Your assistance is dubious."

"High Commander," Spock said, stepping forward, but McCoy wasn't about to let him excuse this away.

"You may not feel the same emotions I do, I understand that, but surely you must see the...the logic in keeping your children alive. How will your race continue if you let all the children die?"

"We will make more," the High Commander said simply and gestured at the naked female in his bed. "Some of our species gestate two or three beings at a time. It will be slow, but the population will rebuild."

"Are you really...can you..." McCoy spluttered. He knew his face and neck were turning red, his fists were clenched, and he probably looked for all the world like a raving lunatic. "How can you justify that to yourself?"

The High Commander looked to Spock, as though seeking translation.

"Humans have an extremely strong bond with their offspring," Spock explained, "the death of so many young lives would be distressing to any human. As it would to any Vulcan, though we do understand that such tragedies are inevitable and even logical on occasion."

"Logical?!" McCoy exploded. "Do you hear yourself?"

"I granted your request, Doctor," the High Commander said, "I allowed you to examine my creation, and it seems you have made no progress. You will return to your Starship and peddle your 'help' elsewhere. We have no further need of you."

"Hold on now, I haven't even tried anything yet. I just took some measurements, I haven't started any kind of treatment," McCoy argued, suddenly desperate. "Let me at least try."

"You could be trying right now, and instead you burst into my quarters for this emotional scene. Treatment does not appear to be your priority."

*They have you there* McCoy thought, and felt the fire go out inside of him. He sighed, and glanced at Spock, willing him to fix this.

"I will escort the Doctor back to his lab and begin working on a cure," Spock said. "I apologize for this intrusion, High Commander. We will have an update for you within the day."

"See that you do," the High Commander said, but he was looking at McCoy. His eyes were hard. "Otherwise, there will be nothing else left to say between us, Mr. Spock, and that includes the treaty."

Spock nodded, and closed a hot hand around McCoy's bicep, all but dragging him out of the room.

"I hope that was satisfactory for you, Doctor," he said as they walked.

McCoy yanked his arm away, scowling. "Don't you lecture me, you're as unfeeling as the rest of them!"

"Your emotional outburst has further damaged my relationship with the High Commander. I calculate the odds of a signed treaty as less than 5.48 percent based on this most recent interaction. If we cannot cure their children and thereby regain his good will then all of this work and suffering will be for nothing."

"You think I don't know that?" McCoy whirled on him, stabbing a finger into the center of Spock's surprisingly hairy chest. "I know damn well what's at stake, but what I can't understand is why none of them seem to care. Even if they don't have emotions, surely they should understand the duty a parent has to a child. He called that little girl his 'creation', which means daugher in their language, doesn't it? His own child is lying on a cold bed slowly dying and he's in here...making more!" He spat the last words, as though sex itself were his enemy. In fact, the whole world felt like his enemy at that moment. The universe that would allow such a race to flourish seemed cold at best and malevolent at worst. He kept seeing Joanna's face in his mind, his little girl with braids in her hair, and a smile bright enough to put the Georgia sun to shame. If were her on that table he would be working night and day to find a cure, and he wouldn't rest until he had done so.

McCoy followed Spock blindly, too caught up in his own thoughts, until he realized that they were entering their quarters. "I thought we were going to the lab," he protested.

"You have been awake for 14.5 hours, Doctor. Your body requires nourishment and rest."

"What about your body?" McCoy asked.

"I will meditate," Spock said. "Stay here and I will procure food for you." With that, he turned and shut the door behind him.

McCoy sat in the chair, which was angular and jabbed him in the lower back, and put his head in his hands. "I should have stayed on the damn starship," he moaned. As if on cue, his stomach gurgled painfully and he sighed. On this godforsaken planet, a hot cup of coffee was almost certainly too much to hope for.

After he pushed away the horrors of the day, McCoy was forced to confront the reality of sleeping arrangements. The possible configurations for two bodies on the single bed sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. He ultimately elected to avoid the subject altogether. While Spock was off getting food from who-knows-where, he slipped back into his black Starfleet-issue undershirt, glad to regain some semblance of decorum. He was still exposing far too much thigh, but this was at least warmer.

They dined on gelatinous cubes which put McCoy in mind of gristle-flavored pudding and he had to keep breathing deeply to avoid gagging. He managed to choke down two of the cubes and considered that a victory. Spock didn't talk while they ate, his gaze focused on the wiggly yellow cubes, and McCoy didn't try to break his reverie. Honestly, he was exhausted. He hadn't stopped moving for days now and the strain was catching up to him.

"What did Jim have to say?" McCoy asked once they finished.

Spock settled himself cross-legged on the stone floor. "His reaction to the illness of the Ulmexian children was similar to your own, Doctor. He encouraged me to cease negotiations with them should our relationship continue to deteriorate. He also asked me to offer you his encouragement in your treatment of the Ulmexians, and to tell you that the crew of the Jefferson is expected to make a full recovery."

That felt like a balm, and McCoy found himself smiling. "That's great news."

"It is a direct result of your involvement, Doctor," Spock said quietly. Their eyes met and McCoy's fingertips tingled.

"Are you complimenting me, Spock?"

"It is logical to give recognition where it is due. You are a competent medical professional and this experience with the crew of the Jefferson is simply one more example."

McCoy was grinning now. "I never thought I would see the day."

"Do not allow my words to inflate your ego, Doctor," Spock said, glancing away.

"Too late. I can already feel my head swelling. You can't take it back now."

"I must meditate," Spock said, and closed his eyes.

McCoy crossed to the bed, laying down on the single pillow and staring up at the darkening ceiling. He chuckled to himself, pillowing his head on his hands. "'Competent medical professional'."

"Go to sleep, Doctor."

He did, almost immediately. His rest was fitful, punctuated by terrible nightmares that slipped away as soon as he startled awake. When his eyes opened in the darkness, McCoy could just make out the outline of Spock's figure still settled on the floor. Once he was sure he saw the shine of Spock's eyes watching him as he slept, but chalked it up to another hazy dream. They did not end up sharing the bed at all.

In the morning, McCoy awoke to an empty room. Those first few barefoot steps across the stone floor were unbearably cold. McCoy swore profusely, sliding into the sandals he had been provided and shivering, even with his undershirt on.

His day did not improve from there. There was, of course, no coffee on the entire planet (nor had they ever heard of it) and the only food available was more of those chalky cubes that made him gag. Still, he choked down a handful of them before making his way to what passed for a laboratory and setting up what little equipment he had been able to bring with him from the Enterprise.

From the moment he had stepped outside their chambers, McCoy had been accompanied by an unsmiling Ulmexian. The Ulmexian did not acknowledge him, or speak to him even when McCoy addressed him directly, simply followed him from place to place like a muscular lavender shadow. This intrusion alone grated on McCoy's nerves, such that by the time Spock bothered to show up his patience was shot. That Spock then proceeded to hover over his shoulder, correcting McCoy's calculations as he tried to work out a cure for the virus, was further grit in the machine.

"You have failed to account for the ambient temperature difference, Doctor," Spock said, indicating on McCoy's long piece of scratch paper where he had so egregious failed at math.

"Stop nitpicking me, will you? And take a step back. I'm starting to feel suffocated," McCoy snapped, smudging out the equation and starting over. "Four years of medical school just to be corrected by a damned computer..."

Spock dutifully stepped back, hands held behind his back once again. Unlike the past few days, Spock's body was not giving off heat in waves. Perhaps he was conserving warmth for the nights, which were considerably colder, but then again maybe he was just cold. As it was, McCoy could barely keep himself from shivering, and he could withstand temperatures considerably cooler than a Vulcan. Oddly, he felt bereft at this realization.

McCoy worked in silence, feeling Spock's eyes on him all the while and resenting their weight. "Don't you need to be somewhere else?" he asked.

"Where else would I be?" Spock asked, and McCoy barely restrained himself from doing the other man physical harm.

"Negotiating a treaty, maybe?" *Doing your damn job* he didn't say.

"Negotiations are at a standstill until the cure is found," Spock informed him cooly. "Your impulsiveness saw to that."

Oh good, McCoy thought, now they were going to fight. He was more than ready. "Are you really going to stand here and tell me that what you saw in that room full of sick children didn't disturb you in the slightest?"

Spock gazed at him impassively. His expressive eyebrows did not so much as twitch.

McCoy scowled. "You're more heartless than I thought, Spock. They stuffed those dying children aside like they were useless cargo, sticking them in a dark room and just waiting for them to die! I've seen a lot, but that..." he paused, an unexpected wave of emotion welling up in his throat.

When McCoy looked up, Spock's eyes had softened. "Doctor, do not take this the wrong way but you seem more emotionally compromised than usual."

"I am," McCoy admitted. Then he had a choice to make. He could let out the words, the ones that were building up inside of him and threatening to come out as tears, of all things, or he could clam up and go back to work. Behind him, the small computer he had managed to bring along was whirring away, crunching numbers and data and, hopefully, coming to some useful conclusions. There wasn't much to do now but wait. If Jim were here, the choice would be easy. He'd pour his heart out on Jim's hairy chest and let the other man pick up the pieces, as they had done for each other countless times. But this was Spock, not Jim, whose bedside manner was chillier than one of Jupiter's moons. Spock who was looking at him almost...solicitously. Who wanted to know why McCoy was being so emotional. He began speaking before he made the conscious choice.

"It's my daughter. She's not much older than the little girl we first saw, the High Commander's daughter. I keep...seeing her face, thinking of her. If it were her in that room, stacked like...I just keep thinking that she is so far away from me, all the way out on Earth. If something happened to her, if she were hurt or sick, by the time I could get to her," he stopped as his throat closed, then coughed, wiping his stinging eyes. "Well, there might not be anything I could do."

"This thought distresses you," Spock observed completely unnecessarily.

"Yes, it damn well does!"

"As it should."

McCoy opened his mouth to argue, then stopped.

Spock straightened, rolling his shoulders, "Parental affection for offspring is only natural, a biological necessity if a species is to survive. Your care for your daughter, though she may be out of your direct influence, is a product of evolution and not an emotion of your choosing."

"Which makes it acceptable," McCoy finished.

"Correct."

"Whereas other emotional outbursts, say over the destiny of other being's offspring are irrational and unwelcome, am I on the right track?"

Spock looked uncomfortable. McCoy considered it a victory. "You are a doctor-"

"Nice of you to notice."

"Allow me to finish. You are a doctor, and have taken an oath to do no harm. Therefore, it is logical that you should react negatively when observing others doing harm by way of neglect. However, the method you employed in dealing with these emotions was illogical and disastrous."

McCoy breathed deeply through his nose, trying to keep his temper on its leash. "What would you have me do?"

"Pause long enough to consider the potential outcome of your actions. We could have discussed a logical plan of action."

"Oh, could we? Because it doesn't seem like we've been discussing much of anything lately. It seems like you've been making all the decisions and then dragging me along after you. If it means watching these children suffer for one minute more than I have to, Spock, I'm not going along with it."

"Suffering is inevitable, Doctor. We must-"

"Don't give me that! You said it yourself. I'm a doctor, I don't watch people suffer when there is something I can do about it!"

"What, exactly, are you doing about it at this moment?" Spock asked.

McCoy blinked at him, stunned and, if he was honest, hurt. Nevertheless, he had to concede the point. What exactly was he doing? The computer was running the calculations, Spock had corrected his math, and McCoy was just...arguing. Killing time until there was something else he could be doing with himself. It felt like much of his life could be summed up with that statement. Frustration overwhelmed him, making him want to punch something, or drink, neither of which was an option. More than anything, he wanted to get away from Spock, put an entire starship's worth of distance between the two of them, which had only been possible a handful of days ago. Now they were all but joined at the hip because this backwards culture had decided McCoy couldn't be trusted. It was ridiculous, and infuriating.

"It was not my intention to insult you, Doctor," Spock said quietly. Somehow, he had managed to inch closer to McCoy without him noticing. Now they were only inches apart, close enough that normally McCoy would have felt the other man's warmth. Spock's skin was olive green, pale from too much time inside, and would have looked like a Greek statue if it weren't for all the dark hair.

"Why are you always standing so close to me?" McCoy blurted. "It's like every time I turn around you're practically in my lap."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Does my proximity disturb you?"

"Yes, actually, it does." He took a step back, and McCoy sighed. "Now don't go getting all sensitive. I don't mean it like that. I'm just not used to you...hovering."

"I am not hovering," Spock replied, sounding chilly.

McCoy was about to respond, though he didn't know if it was to beg Spock to come closer, or perpetuate a fight that would send him farther away. Both were attractive options for different reasons. He didn't get the chance, however, as the computer chimed, alerting them that the calculations were finished. McCoy turned away, the skin along his back and arms prickling in the cold, and returned to the business at hand.

 

It took McCoy too long to realize that someone was speaking to him. He had passed into an altered state of consciousness he hadn't accessed since medical school; one where exhaustion was so intense that he no longer felt it and was moving like an automaton, completing tasks without remembering any of what he was doing.

"What?" he asked, turning to the source of the deep, soothing voice that had addressed him several times.

Spock regarded him, arms crossed over his naked chest. Why was he naked? Why was McCoy mostly naked for that matter? Is that why it was so cold in here?

"I merely inquired as to when you last slept, Doctor."

McCoy considered this request, and found he did not know the answer. He was too tired to dissemble, and so simply shrugged and went back to painstakingly mixing ingredients. The Ulmexians didn't have access to traditional medical supplies, and would not allow him to return to the ship in order to scrape together what they needed, so McCoy was having to synthesize ingredients with only the elements that were ready to hand. It was a detailed process, and the fact that his vision kept blurring made it all the more difficult.

A hand fell on his shoulder, heavy and warm and comforting. How long had it been since someone had touched him? Here on this awful planet no one even smiled, much less patting a fellow on the back. The hand pulled at him, turning McCoy's weary body on its swiveling seat. He looked up into Spock's eyes, which seemed concerned. That was nice, McCoy thought. Spock liked to act like he didn't care, but really he was just a big softy on the inside, just like McCoy himself. They weren't so different, really.

"By my calculations, it has been approximately fifty-one hours since you last rested. It is imperative you sleep, or your work here may be irreparably compromised."

"If you knew the answer, why did you ask me?" McCoy snapped.

"I wished to assess whether *you* knew the answer."

"Seems pretty illogical to me," McCoy responded, but he didn't turn back to his work. He was too tired to push himself around. In fact, just contemplating the long, labyrinthine walk back to the quarters he shared with Spock seemed impossible. "We should have a cot set up here."

"I will escort you back to our chambers," Spock said, removing his hand and stepping back so that McCoy could stand. He missed Spock's touch almost immediately, and had to resist the urge to reach out for him. McCoy wanted comfort and warmth now more than he ever had before. He felt lonely, sorrowful, wrung out. He wished Jim were here. Jim would give him a hug if he asked for one and never bring it up again. McCoy wasn't even sure that Spock knew how to hug. He'd probably need to look up a diagram.

He acquiesced without further argument, but staggered when his treacherous legs refused to cooperate. Spock's hands were on him again at once, steadying McCoy and helping him regain his balance. Without meaning to, McCoy leaned into the touch, and wound up pressed against Spock's bare chest, his face pressed against lovely pocket where neck met shoulder. Spock smelled clean, and a little like ozone. What an unusual scent. McCoy wanted to close his eyes and sleep here, just like this, but Spock apparently had other ideas.

"Do you require me to carry you?" he asked, but his tone wasn't as acerbic as it might have been. Instead, he sounded almost hopeful.

"No," McCoy murmured against his skin. "Just give me a second."

Spock stood still, hands still loosely gripping McCoy's biceps, and waited. After a moment, McCoy straightened up and looked him in the eye, waiting to see recrimination there, or discomfort. There was neither. Spock regarded him levely, like an experiment he was watching to see how it turned out. Like he was curious what was going to happen next. It was that look that finally shook McCoy awake, forcing him back onto his feet and putting a foot between their bodies. They walked back to their shared chambers in silence.

To his surprise, Spock followed him inside. The lights were already dimmed inside the windowless chamber, and McCoy instantly felt ready for sleep. He slid off the uncomfortable sandals they forced him to wear and sat on the edge of the bed. Spock stood near the door, watching him.

"We should have a cure in a couple of days," McCoy said.

"I will inform the High Commander of your progress."

"Do you...does something seem off about all of this to you?"

"Off?" Spock asked.

"I just...the samples we took from the sick Ulmexian children are so different from the cases on board the Jefferson. And before you start correcting me about the differences in their biology I know that, and I've accounted for it. I can't put my finger on it, but something feels different about this situation."

Spock was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant with thought. "Do you believe the Ulmexians may have been intentionally poisoned?"

McCoy's head snapped up. "Do you think that's possible?"

"It would fit with a theory of my own."

"What theory? You haven't said anything to me."

"I did not want to prejudice you in the event that my hypothesis proved incorrect."

Classic Spock. McCoy sighed, frowning at the room's stone floor. "I guess it's possible. I'd have to look at the data a little differently if that's the case. But the real question is, who would intentionally attempt to murder a bunch of children?"

Spock regarded him impassively, and did not answer. McCoy was about to press the issue when the Vulcan raised a hand. "Sleep now, Doctor. We will discuss the matter further when you awaken."

"You can bet on it," McCoy said, sliding himself under the covers, which were warm and soft and welcoming. He wished that Spock were under here with him, the skin of his stomach pressed against McCoy's back. What a thought, the two of them smashed together in the tiny bed like half-nude sardines. It shamed him to realize just how much he wanted Spock close, how comforting it was to have him near. If McCoy had been forced to endure this heartless planet on his own he would have run mad by now. And then, to his horror, McCoy realized he was saying all of this out loud. His voice was only a murmur, but Vulcan hearing was sensitive enough to pick up on his words.

He looked at Spock's face, to find his expression as neutral as ever. "May you have restful sleep," Spock said when he noticed McCoy's gaze.

"Thanks," he said quietly, and knew no more.

When McCoy awoke, his mouth was terribly dry and his head was throbbing. He had no sense of how much time had passed, but he was still covered by the heavy blanket of sluggishness that indicated he had been out for a while. He closed his eyes for a while until his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he noticed a figure slumped in the uncomfortable stone chair a few feet away. Spock's head lolled against his shoulder, his arms and legs splayed in an undignified fashion that he surely would not have permitted had he been awake. He had dressed again in his starfleet undershirt, which clung to the body that had tortured McCoy constantly for the past two weeks.

Propping himself up on his elbow, McCoy let himself look. Somehow, despite the horrible angle of Spock's neck (he was definitely going to be sore when he woke up) his hair was still perfectly in place, smooth and flawlessly shiny. The hard angles of his face slackened in sleep to the point where McCoy almost didn't recognize him. Spock simply wasn't Spock without the shine of intelligence in his eyes, his sharp tongue poised to strike. In this unguarded space between sleep and waking, between stillness and action, McCoy let himself feel for the first time the depth of emotion he had for Spock. God knew he was talented at repression, a natural gift he had inherited from generations of reserved people who held their hearts just out of reach. He scarcely knew his own mind most days, much less his heart. But here it was, falling open like a rare flower to expose the intoxicating scent of desire, lust, admiration, and, of course, love. Such love. It was embarrassing, shameful, how much he loved Spock, a man he shouldn't have even felt friendship for given their history. As he slowly came to his senses McCoy was suddenly desperately glad that no one else was here to see him mooning over his ship-mate in such a way. Next thing he knew he'd be scribbling their names together in his notebook like a schoolgirl. This was no way for a grown man to behave, much less a grown man with life-or-death business to attend to.

He swung himself out of bed, trying to move as quietly as possible, and adjourned to the washroom. Making use of the facilities was a louder activity than he had expected and McCoy was not surprised when he returned to the bedroom and found Spock completely alert. He had righted himself, returning to his flawless posture, and nodded in greeting.

"I trust you rested well."

"You too," McCoy said with a smile. Spock didn't pretend to misunderstand him, though he did frown slightly.

"I believe our best course of action will be-"

Someone's communicator started pinging. McCoy rifled through the pile of clothes and equipment they had dragged with them from the Enterprise, searching for the source of the noise. It was Spock's communicator, which he handed over so the Vulcan could answer.

"Spock."

"Spock, it's Kirk. I wouldn't bother you, except that it seems Captain Rogers has gone missing. You haven't seen him on Ulmexis have you?" Kirk's voice sounded tight, a sign of impending danger if ever there was one. McCoy crossed his arms over his bare chest and waited.

"Negative, Captain. I will initiate a search for the Captain throughout the main compound."

"Yes, do that. He was last heard from at 0800 when he informed his Lieutenant that he was taking a small squad of officers down to the planet's surface, but no one has heard anything from him since. If you haven't seen him either, I have to wonder exactly what's going on."

Spock and McCoy met eyes. "I will initiate a planetside search immediately."

"Thanks, Spock. Are you and Bones getting on okay?"

"Passing fair," McCoy said loudly enough to be heard. "Though the hospitality definitely leaves something to be desired."

He could hear the smile in Jim's voice when he answered, "I'm sure they'll learn a thing or two from your bedside manner."

"One can only hope."

"I will report back when I have additional information," Spock said, and waited until Kirk signed off to snap the communicator shut. He stood, sliding off his Starfleet undershirt in one smooth motion, one that made McCoy's tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He walked past the stunned man to replace his shirt and communicator on the shelf of their belongings and then faced him, so close that they were almost touching.

"Doctor, if you will indulge me, I have a theory I would like to test."

McCoy couldn't make words. They were beyond him, having flown to a distant, unreachable galaxy.

"I believe I know where Captain Rogers may be found."

"Oh," he said, feeling like an idiot.

Spock's eyebrow quirked. "Are you well, Doctor?"

"Yeah," McCoy said, taking a step back and searching for his abandoned sandals in the darkness. "Yeah, just peachy."

If the inside of the compound was cold, the outside was downright freezing. They hadn't made it more than two steps before McCoy put his foot down and insisted they turn back for their Starfleet uniforms.

"Propriety be damned, there's no way I'm going out there so exposed. If the weather is affecting me, I *know* it's affecting you," he said.

For once, Spock didn't argue. They wasted a few minutes trekking back to their quarters and gathering up all of their gear, along with McCoy's medical bag slung over his shoulder. Thus armed, they set out into the Ulmexian wilderness, McCoy following Spock's lead. The Vulcan had armed himself with a phaser, which was strapped to his belt, and McCoy was comforted by the sight of it, though he hoped it would not be necessary.

Wearing clothes again after weeks of being mostly nude was odd, but comforting. McCoy wished he could cover his exposed emotions so neatly, tucking them back under cover where they belonged, but the stubborn feelings refused to budge. Now that his affection for Spock had surfaced, it refused to be buried again and kept surfacing at the most inconvenient moments. For instance, when Spock stopped suddenly and McCoy threw out a hand to keep from colliding with his back, leaving his fingers splayed across Spock's lower back for a brief moment.

"What is it?" McCoy snapped, yanking his hand away.

"It is as I suspected," Spock said, his voice tight, "see for yourself."

McCoy peered around the rocky outcropping where they had stopped and felt his heart sink. Beneath them was a deep crevasse upon which scaffolding and other infrastructure had been constructed. The gold of Captain Roger's uniform was visible even at this distance.

"Don't tell me. Those are the Belcizonian mines."

Spock nodded. "An accurate assessment."

"Fuck," McCoy groaned. "As if things weren't already bad enough, now we have a Starfleet captain outright stealing from a non-Federation race."

"I have reason to believe it was also Captain Rogers who poisoned the children of Ulmexis."

McCoy goggled at him. "You're joking."

"I do not joke, as you well know, and certainly not about such a serious matter. I do not believe that Captain Rogers intended to affect only the children, but his clumsy attempt at a poison has had that effect nonetheless."

"All for some sparkly rocks," McCoy said, still disbelieving. As they watched, Captain Rogers approached one of the Jefferson's science officers, possibly the woman McCoy had worked with on the cure, and started speaking animatedly to her. "We have to do something, Spock."

"Affirmative. I am calculating the odds of success given the options available to us," Spock said calmly.

"I'd like to go and bash his head into a rock, the sick bastard!"

"That would be unwise. Though he may be a thief and an attempted murderer, Captain Rogers is still an officer of Starfleet and must face due process."

McCoy glanced at Spock, and found him looking back. "This doesn't piss you off?"

"My emotional reaction to the situation is irrelevant."

"Not to me."

Spock's lips thinned into a straight line. He glanced back at the illegal operation carrying on beneath them, then back at McCoy and said, "I am angry."

McCoy felt a strange warmth blossom in his chest. "Damn straight. Me too."

Spock reached out suddenly, taking McCoy's hand in his. He jumped, but did not pull away. McCoy forced himself to breathe, in and out, and not to run away or lean in, just stand his ground and see what happened next.

"The course of action with the highest probability of success is a direct confrontation. The ion storms in the planet's atmosphere will interfere with our communicators, not to mention transportation. Captain Rogers is accompanied by only two other individuals, both human, neither of whom appear to be armed. It is possible that we can convince him to surrender with no further loss of life."

"You think that's likely?" McCoy asked, eyebrow raised. His hand was sweating in Spock's grip, and he hoped it didn't disgust the Vulcan.

"Not particularly. Captain Rogers will likely resist our efforts to detain him, resulting in a violent confrontation. I would prefer to ask you to wait here while I deal with the situation, but I believe your assistance will be required. I am loathe to put you in danger, however."

McCoy didn't know what to say, so he grasped clumsily after humor. "Spock, I didn't know you cared."

Those liquid brown eyes bored into him, unflinching in their honesty. "Doctor, I feel very deeply for you. Perhaps I have not made my regard clear."

"Jesus, Spock," McCoy stammered. "I know...things have been...we are...we have...god damn it, now really isn't the time or place for this discussion."

"You are correct."

Still, neither of them pulled away. The breeze picked up, and McCoy shivered. Spock stared at him, waiting. And finally, his patience wore out.

"Fuck it," McCoy said, and lunged forward, pressing their lips together. His hands came up and bracketed Spock's face. After that, cold was a distant memory because McCoy was drowning in fire. The kiss was awkward and stilted at first, until Spock tilted his head and their lips lined up perfectly. After that...it was *something* that was for certain.

Spock's hand came to rest on the back of McCoy's neck, pulling him closer and burning like a brand into his skin. They moved against one another for a moment longer, until McCoy drew back, dizzy and breathless.

"What the hell are you smiling about, you bastard?" He said, and found himself grinning.

"I have been anticipating such an event since you and I first came to the planet's surface, though I initially calculated intimacy would occur approximately 33% sooner than this moment."

"Oh, for pity's sake," McCoy said, and drew back, feeling Spock's fingers slide off his skin with a great deal of reluctance. "Way to kill the mood, Spock."

"We will return to the subject, should our mission be successful," Spock said. It wasn't a question.

"You betcha," McCoy said, smiling thinly, and readjusting his bag. "Now let's go issue a citizen's arrest on a ranking officer, shall we?"

McCoy's job in this operation was simple, but that didn't mean he liked it much. Still, he squared his shoulders, adjusted his medical bag, and approached with his head held high.

"Well, this looks like quite the operation," he said loudly.

Captain Rogers and the female science officer (who was, in fact, who McCoy suspected) whirled around, and suddenly there was a phaser pointed in his face. This was the first time McCoy had seen Rogers up close and it was immediately obvious to him that the man was unwell. His pinched face was ashen and sweaty, his eyes red and too-wet. The hand holding the phaser was shaking, and the weapon was not set to 'stun'. McCoy felt cold all over.

"What are you doing here?" Rogers snarled. The female officer looked back and forth between the two of them, her eyes wide and terrified.

"Calm down," McCoy said evenly. "I'm not a threat to you, Captain. I came to see how I could help. And from the looks of you, you need medical attention. Will you let me help you?"

Rogers eyes twitched. His hand shook. McCoy waited, outwardly calm, to see what would happen.

"Why aren't you with *them*?" The disgust in his tone was obvious.

"I've got calculations running, so I came out to get some air. I'll return to the Ulmexian compound, if you'll allow me, once we're finished here. Captain Rogers, you aren't well. I'm a doctor, I can help you."

"I fucking well know you're a doctor!" He bellowed, and lowered the phaser.

McCoy pounced, grabbing the Captain's arm and wrenching it to the side. "Now, damn it!" he yelled.

Spock was right there. He shot the science officer before she could react, then dropped his phaser and clamped one of those strong hands on Captain Roger's neck, giving him the Vulcan nerve pinch. Rogers went boneless, and McCoy let him fall to the rocky ground with a thud.

"There is another officer inside the mine," Spock said.

"Do we go after him?"

"I believe he will have fled farther underground upon hearing the phaser shot. However, we must exercise caution in case he does emerge.” 

McCoy nodded, kneeling beside the captain and pulling out his scanner. He ran it up and down the man's body, frowning at the readings. "He's sick all right, his vitals are all over the place and his brain..." McCoy whistled. "It's...well, I'm not sure what to make of it."

Spock approached, kneeling beside him and the proximity alone was enough to be completely distracting. His gaze was focused intently on the tricorder, but McCoy was looking at his mouth. Spock glanced at him, smirked, and looked away.

"It would appear the Captain's brain chemistry has been significantly altered."

"That's an understatement. It looks like a parasite to me, maybe something he picked up around here?" McCoy said, glancing around as though he might catch sight of the brain parasites before they infested him. The skin at the back of his neck prickled unpleasantly. "This planet seems determined to kill everyone who comes across it."

Spock did not comment on his observation, but knelt down to inspect the female science officer, who seemed unharmed. As McCoy was about to ask him a question, Spock stiffened, and turned toward the north.

"Someone is coming."

McCoy's heart started pounding. He stood, watching the direction Spock was looking, hand still on his phaser, and saw the Ulmexian High Commander as he appeared around the rock. His shoulder slumped, all the air coming out in a rush of relief. "Have we got a story to tell you," he said, glancing around ruefully.

That was when someone shot him. A searing, burning, horrible pain tore up McCoy's left leg, and he collapsed, gouging his elbow on a sharp rock on the way down. He didn't mean to scream, but the sound was ripped out of him all the same. The Ulmexian's phasers were crude affairs, and that was a good thing, otherwise McCoy might have lost the leg altogether. As it was, it was dizzyingly painful, and bleeding, but McCoy thought he just might pull through.

Spock leapt into action, throwing himself between McCoy and the Ulmexians before they could continue to fire. "Stop this," he said in his commanding tone. "Doctor McCoy is not your enemy."

"All humans are our enemies now," The Ulmexian High Commander answered. He did not glare, or fume, or even seem affected by what was unfolding around him. He stared at McCoy like he was a bug about to be crushed under his heel, hardly worthy of the attention. "They have poisoned our people and raped our land, there will be no further quarter given."

The Ulmexian guard who had shot McCoy calmly fired two shots, one into Captain Rogers's chest and the other into the head of the female science officer. Both of them lay still, and McCoy realized with dawning horror that they were dead. "No!" He shouted. "You can't just do that! These are Starfleet officers!" Just the effort of hollering made his leg sear with agony and he gritted his teeth, trying to keep from crying in pain.

"Save your strength, Doctor," Spock said, his calm exterior seemingly unshakable. His eyes, though, were afraid.

"How a rational being such as yourself can comport with these beings is beyond comprehension," the Ulmexian High Commander said.

"Your actions will have dire consequences, High Commander. That man," he gestured at Captain Rogers's smoking corpse, "was a Starfleet Captain. Though he was also a criminal from all appearances, his death will be considered an act of war by the Federation."

"We will have no more humans meddling in our world. They are irrational emotional beings, driven by whims and fits of passion. Surely you must see how eradicating their kind will be a boon to the universe."

Spock shook his head. "I do not have time to debate this with you logically, High Commander. My shipmate is injured and requires medical attention aboard the Enterprise. You must allow me to take Doctor McCoy and return to our ship."

The Ulmexian High Commander regarded him evenly. His lavender skin seemed to sparkle in the dull light of the planet. McCoy's vision was beginning to go grey at the edges, and he blinked, fighting down a wave of nausea.

"I will permit you to leave, Spock, out of respect for your impressive, even beautiful, mind. However, Doctor McCoy is human and he will not be allowed to survive this encounter."

"I've been trying to help you, damn it!" McCoy yelled.

"And you have been unsuccessful. Our children are nearly all dead, with nothing to show for the effort you say you have expended. If you are a healer, as you claim to be, you would do well to improve your craft as you do not seem to be a very good one."

McCoy opened his mouth, but stopped when Spock began speaking.

"I will not allow you to kill Doctor McCoy." His tone was an iron band, allowing no resistance and brooking no argument. McCoy shivered to hear it, though that could also have been shock setting in.

"You do not have a choice in the matter."

"Spock, don't-" McCoy started, but it was too late. Spock reached for his phaser with lighting speed, firing several shots before the Ulmexians returned fire. McCoy shielded his eyes from the suddenly dazzling display of light, and hardly dared to open them when the world around him went silent. Ears ringing, he looked around and found Spock still on his feet, the half-dozen Ulmexians lying prone on the ground.

"Are they...?"

"Merely stunned," Spock said, bending down to pick him up as though he weighed nothing. The movement disturbed McCoy's wound, which was still bleeding freely, and he yelped. "We must move to open ground where we have a chance of communicating with the Enterprise."

"Spock, I'm losing a lot of blood here. I don't know how long I can stay conscious."

Spock looked at him, the glint of steel back in his gaze. "You will not sleep. When we stop, I will assist you in staunching the bleeding. Until then, hold on to me."

For once, McCoy didn't argue.

They went as far as they could before darkness fell. It came all at once on this planet, casting the rocky, unfriendly land into shadows within a matter of minutes, and full darkness only an instant later. Spock laid him down carefully on a bed of some slimy mossy stuff that stunk horribly. It reminded McCoy of the food cubes he had been choking down for the past few weeks and he nearly laughed, realizing that he wouldn't have to worry about eating those anymore.

Spock tried his communicator, and received silence in response. McCoy slid off his medical bag, moving gingerly and through a fog of blood loss. He pulled a few things out, but his hands were clumsy and he dropped them.

"Damn it," he swore, wishing for a light and feeling around clumsily for the portable dermal regenerator.

Spock knelt beside him and retrieved the items easily. McCoy knew his eyes were more sensitive to light and so he could probably see perfectly well, like a cat. McCoy started grabbing after the equipment, but Spock laid a hand on the center of his chest, the shine of his eyes catching the scant light of the stars. "Allow me to assist you, Doctor."

"As if I have a choice," McCoy said and laid back, hitting his head too hard against the rocks and whining.

Spock cut away what was left of his pant leg, moving efficiently. His touch felt like a brand, so hot that the vestiges of contact lingered on McCoy's skin. There was pain, but there was also comfort as Spock took care of him and McCoy stared up at the strange foreign stars and tried not to think of the burning wound through the center of the science officer's forehead.

"How long until the storm passes?" He asked, watching eerie purple lighting arc across nebula above them.

"Uncertain. Based on traditional Ulmexian weather patterns it could pass within one to seventeen hours, and even then only for a brief window."

"Comforting."

"It is only information, Doctor. We must make of it what we will."

McCoy propped himself up on his elbows and looked archly down where Spock was working on him. Under other circumstances he would have likely become aroused by the sight of the Vulcan kneeling with his face so close to his groin area. But the fact that he was using a dermal regenerator to stitch up the enormous burn wound spreading across McCoy's thigh was a pretty serious mood killer. He thought back to the kiss they had shared, and managed a little smile.

Spock glanced up at him, but McCoy couldn't make out his expression in the darkness.

"What?" McCoy demanded.

"You experienced a pleasant thrill just now, a curious reaction under the circumstances."

McCoy blinked. "You can feel...my feelings?"

"Skin-to-skin contact activates the Vulcan psi receptors. As a medical professional this should be familiar to you, should it not?" Spock's tone was teasing, which helped steer McCoy's mind away from panic and into curiosity.

"Have you always been poking around in my emotions?" He demanded.

"Do we often engage in skin-to-skin contact?" Spock fired back.

"Well...no. But I'm hoping that's gonna change, personally." His mind was swimming with possibility, so he decided a change of subject was in order.

"I don't think there's any internal damage," McCoy said, his voice sounding distant in his own ears. "If you seal it up that should be enough. I've lost quite a bit of blood, and I'd rather not lose any more."

Spock ran the dermal regenerator over his leg again and McCoy closed his eyes, feeling the skin and muscle knitting back together at a glacial pace.

"I might pass out," He said.

Spock did not acknowledge that comment, but McCoy thought he saw the shine of his eyes watching him in our of the darkness.

"They'll come after us."

"It is highly likely. However, without scanning technology they will have to search on foot, an ineffective method. It is unlikely they will discover our location before we can make contact with the Enterprise."

"Comforting," McCoy murmured. "I must be dying. You're never comforting."

"I am merely stating the facts."

"You know, I love you."

The words hung in the air under their own power, and McCoy could not bring himself to feel ashamed. He, too, was simply stating the facts. Why would there possibly be anything wrong with that?

The dermal regenerator whirred. McCoy was surprised to feel Spock's hot hand on his knee, squeezing gently.

"I feel great affection and warmth for you as well, Leonard."

"Not platonic, I hope."

"No," Spock confirmed, sounding amused.

The pain was fading as his leg came back together, which was an enormous relief. The loss of blood left him dizzy, and with a pounding headache, a feeling he associated with long nights of drinking. Similar to being drunk, McCoy seemed unable to hold his tongue.

"How did you know?"

"You will have to be more precise, Doctor."

"About us, I mean. You said before that you knew we were going to get together during this mission, but that you thought it would happen sooner. I don't understand...where you got that. Because, let me tell you, no one is more surprised by these circumstances than I am."

Spock's hand was still on his leg, his thumb stroking idly along the space where the patella met the quadricep. McCoy felt every brush of his fingers, and wondered what Spock could feel through his skin. Curiosity, perhaps, maybe a little apprehension. Arousal, for certain, not dampened in any way by their circumstances, and perhaps even enhanced by it. McCoy always had been an amorous drunk.

"Forty-seven days ago, during the meteor storm, you and I collided on the bridge and your hand briefly touched mine. During the contact, I inadvertently sensed your attraction to me, and your confusion as well. In examining my own regard for you, I found that this new data was not unwelcome, and therefore decided to conduct a series of experiments to test my theory that you would not be averse to continued proximity and a deepening of our existing relationship."

McCoy remembered thinking that Spock had gotten a little stare-y lately. He flashed through all of the times in the past two months that Spock had stood too close, lingered too long, and it all came together in his mind. This was the Vulcan version of flirting, apparently.

"Why this mission?" he asked quietly, as Spock finished with the regenerator, and tucked it away. He bent his leg experimentally, feeling the muscles flex unimpeded.

Spock sat back, examining McCoy's leg. He ran his fingers over the dark spot on his upper thigh where the ugly wound had been, and McCoy jumped at the intimate contact. "My experiments proved to be a success-"

"What does that mean?"

"You did not reject my continued advances," Spock said, sliding his fingers up McCoy's thigh, towards the crease of his groin, exposed by the wreckage of his uniform pants. McCoy held his breath until the dizziness became overwhelming and he remembered that oxygen is necessary to continue living. Spock talked quietly, his voice a low rumble in the silence of the Ulmexian wilderness, and McCoy felt his cock getting hard, though it was entirely illogical for it to do so.

"I hypothesized that this mission would put us in close quarters, and with the Ulmexian attire so revealing, the depth of our mutual attraction would be impossible to further conceal. It was simply a matter of patience and consistency and I believed we would be inevitably drawn together."

"Are you glad to be right?" McCoy asked, sounding breathless.

"I am gratified, though I must confess my desire that circumstances were altered slightly."

"How so?"

"You are injured, we have just endured a taxing event, and this setting is less-than-ideal for sexual copulation," Spock stated. McCoy laughed.

"Your Vulcan mind is in the gutter!"

"If you find the idea of physically consummating our mutual regard distasteful-"

"Woah, woah," McCoy said, laying his hand atop Spock's before the Vulcan could pull away. He slid the Vulcan's hand up to where his dick was straining through his trousers, and was glad that Spock did not seem shocked or offended. Quite the contrary, actually. "As you can see, I find it anything but distasteful, Spock."

"The circumstances preclude visual confirmation, however I do believe I can confirm your statement," Spock said in a low voice, giving McCoy's erection a tentative squeeze through his pants. "Would it tax you overly if I were to manually bring you to orgasm?"

McCoy's head swam. "You have quite the way with words. Uh, I'm not sure about that, but I don't mind finding out the hard way, if you know what I mean." His dick jumped, letting its opinion on the subject be known.

Spock leaned down, bracing a hand next to McCoy's head, and kissed him. It was slow, warm, and comforting. His fingers left McCoy's groin, to card through his hair, a hot comb against the human's scalp. McCoy melted under the attention, his hands grasping weakly at Spock's bicep, and the back of his neck. It felt so good to be close to someone, to be held and revered. McCoy hadn't realized how much he missed this kind of intimacy until it was within his grasp once more, Spock's silky hair under his fingers, and their mouths moving together like they had been doing so forever.

Spock's communicator emitted a burst of static, causing McCoy to jump. Spock pulled back, reaching for it, and said, "Spock here. Enterprise, do you read?"

There was another burst of static and something that sounded a little like Scotty's voice, but very far away and distorted.

"This is Spock. If you read me, we have two to beam up immediately."

They waited. Another loud crackle of static, and McCoy couldn't decide whether he hoped for rescue or actively wished against it. He liked what they were doing right now, even if he needed a pint of blood and a sandwich even more. Despite being a doctor, he didn't always do what was best for him.

"This is-" Spock was interrupted as the air around him started to distort and sparkle. McCoy sighed, the decision made for both of them, and let himself be swept away.

The bright light of the transportation bay was blinding, giving him an instant splitting headache. Mccoy shielded his eyes for a moment, as his watery gaze started to focus on the concerned faces of his crew members.

"Get a medical team down here!" Kirk yelled, and a second later he was kneeling at McCoy's side, running a concerned hand over his leg and looking furious. "What the hell happened down there, Bones?"

"I'm okay, stop fussing," McCoy griped, batting the Captain's hands away. "Spock stitched me up. Jim, Captain Rogers is dead, along with one of his science officers. Those heartless bastards shot him before Spock or I could do anything."

Jim's face clouded over. He looked at Spock, "I need a full report, Spock."

The Vulcan was already on his feet, McCoy's medical bag slung over his shoulder, hands folded behind his back. To the average person, he would not look like an individual who was, moments before, engaged in a session of heavy petting. However, McCoy was not an average person, and he could see the disheveled hairs at the nape of Spock's neck where his fingers had been. "I am at your disposal, Captain."

A team of McCoy's medical officers arrived with a stretcher, which he waved away, accepting Jim's help to stand. His leg was shaky, as was his overall constitution, but he wasn't going to be coddled, damn it. "I'm a doctor, not an infant," he grumbled, limping his way out of the room. He glanced back at Spock, who met his gaze and nodded slowly. McCoy hoped that was a nod of 'see you later' rather than one of 'let's pretend none of this ever happened'. But he supposed he would have to find out the answer later.

"Come see me once you're fixed up, Bones," Jim said behind him.

"I'll come see you when I'm good and ready," McCoy threw over his shoulder, letting the doors hiss shut behind him.

 

Medically, there wasn't all that much wrong with him. The phaser burns on his leg were of chief concern, but they didn't need much additional attention. M'Benga was able to help him restore the damaged internal tissue that the field equipment hadn't been able to tackle, and he did the best he could with the long scar, which faded slightly but did not disappear altogether. McCoy would always have a pale mark about three inches long along the inside of his left thigh as a reminder of his time on Ulmexia. In addition, he was malnourished from those horrible food cubes, and sleep-deprived. He actually struggled to stay awake while M'Benga was examining him on the biobed, even as uncomfortable as those things were, and as much as he hated being the patient. All that being said, his first stop upon being released (with a fresh uniform) was not a hot meal or a warm bed, but Jim's ready room.

"What would you say if your patient was wandering around the ship instead of resting?" Jim said, frowning at him from behind the desk.

"That this dedicated officer was probably just doing his job," McCoy said, sinking into a chair without delay. He was exhausted, his limbs heavy and thick, but he knew he wouldn't sleep until he saw this through. "I need to give you my report."

"You could have just submitted it later," Kirk argued.

"Are you going to let me finish or not?"

Kirk sighed, standing to retrieve a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses from his cabinet. McCoy accepted his gratefully and sipped, sighing in pleasure.

"The Ulmexians don't believe in alcohol," he said.

"I heard."

"Spock already give you his report?" McCoy asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. Would Spock have mentioned what passed between them? It didn't seem likely, but McCoy never knew what to expect with the Vulcan. He felt his cheeks flushing, and hoped Jim would chalk it up to the liquor.

"He did. Bones, I owe you an apology."

"What?"

"I sent you and Spock in there without any backup, completely blind and unprepared. I should have seen something like this coming, especially after Captain Rogers started acting strangely. I-” 

"No, no, don't start being the noble hero and blaming yourself," McCoy said, leaning forward on his elbows. "No one knew what Captain Rogers was getting up to, not even Spock and he was the closest to the situation."

"He blames himself too," Kirk added.

"Of course he does. You're useless, the pair of you. Blaming anyone serves no good purpose right now - it is what it is. Besides, if we're going to blame anyone I think Captain Rogers is the prime candidate. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have been in this mess at all. He's the one who mass-murdered an alien species to steal their valuables out of the ground."

Jim nodded. "I still have trouble believing it."

"Me too. I probably wouldn't, to be honest, if hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Did the Jefferson’s medical crew examine Rogers’s brain?” 

“Yeah,” Jim said, his mouth compressed into a thin line. “They still haven’t figured out the cause, only that his brain looked a lot like swiss cheese.” 

“Ouch,” McCoy breathed. “Let me know what they find out, won’t you?” 

Jim nodded. "How's the leg?" He asked, glancing down as though he still expected to see the raw burn wound underneath McCoy's trousers.

"All better. Spock took good care of me while we were on the planet," he added, not sure why. For some unexplainable reason he wanted Kirk to know that Spock had done everything he could.

Silence stretched out for a long time, long enough that McCoy glanced up from his consideration of Kirk's desk to find the Captain looking at him. There was something knowing in his expression.

"Bones," he began, "Did something...happen? Between you and Spock."

McCoy didn't know what to say, because the truth was that he didn't know the answer either. Well, that wasn't exactly true - he did know that *something* happened between them, but couldn't describe what, exactly, that something was. At any rate, Kirk was expecting an answer and his failure to provide one was probably answer enough.

"What do you mean?"

"Things seem different between you two. You just said he 'took good care of you' without a hint of sarcasm, which by itself is worthy of concern. And he said something similar about your 'exemplary medical knowledge' that stuck out as well."

McCoy chuckled. "We're complimenting each other and that's what's worrying you? Wouldn't you rather have us on good terms?"

"Sure I would, I'm just surprised by how quickly things have changed, that's all. Neither of you were exposed to any...pollen or some such?" Kirk asked, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

"No, Jim. We just worked together to get out of a difficult situation and that...changes things sometimes. No one's been infected by anything."

"Just making sure," Kirk said with a shrug. "Things do seem awfully strange between the two of you."

"What do you know about strange?" McCoy sniped, draining his glass. After that, the conversation took a decidedly less threatening course.

When Jim finally kicked him out, insisting that McCoy get some rest, the Doctor didn't argue. He returned to his quarters, collapsing on the bed fully dressed, and slept like the dead. When he awoke, it was to the comfortable aftermath of a drooling, heavy-limbed slumber, a wrinkled uniform, and a bed that didn't feel like a stone slab. He replicated a meal, eggs and bacon, which he consumed without gusto, not even thinking to complain about the oddness of the replicated food. It was glorious compared to the sickening gelatinous food cubes.

Thus restored, his mind turned back to the spot it had been wearing thin over the past few hours: The rocky wilderness where Spock had been moments away from touching his cock. This memory had an immediate effect on his physicality, which McCoy temporarily relieved in the shower (a heavenly offering greater even than the food), but still tickled at his brain as he dressed in a fresh uniform once more.

"Computer, locate Spock," he said.

"Commander Spock is currently in Science Bay 7," the automated voice responded.

McCoy looked at the time, neither of them were on shift for another couple of hours, so Spock was probably working on a side project, something he no doubt found 'fascinating'. His full stomach gave a nervous little lurch, a bout of butterflies he hadn't experienced since asking a girl to the high school prom. How ridiculous he was, getting all twitterpated about a Vulcan. Leonard McCoy, he thought, I hardly recognize you anymore. Still, it was inevitable that he and Spock would encounter one another in the course of their duties, probably sooner rather than later, and McCoy preferred to face things head on. Best then, to confront him directly and talk about what had happened between them, before they had a real emergency on their hands and no such opportunity.

Glancing at himself in the mirror, and seeing someone he still recognized at least from the outside, McCoy headed out in the direction of Science Bay 7.

It took McCoy much longer than expected to make it down to the lab. He got stuck in a turbolift with a couple of junior science officers who were all atwitter over his success with the crew of the Jefferson, that McCoy felt a little like a celebrity. They each had a lot of questions, about how he had synthesized the cure, and what conclusions he reached concerning the Ulmexians as a result. The latter was a bit of a sore subject, since he knew he had not saved the Ulmexians at all, and he tried to let the young officers down as gently as possible. However, they just looked puzzled at his revelation that the Ulmexian children had died.

"No, sir," said the young man, "we just got word that most of the children survived, thanks to your work on a cure. It's what kept the Ulmexians from going to war with the Federation, in fact."

McCoy was stunned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, resisting the urge to say something asinine like, "It worked?!" and instead just nodded. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Mr. Spock will be as well."

"You saved hundreds of lives in the last two weeks, Doctor McCoy," said the other young science officer, a pretty young woman who was far, far, too young to be looking at McCoy the way she was. Besides, he was taken. (Or was he, his treacherous brain prompted, sending a fresh wave of impatience through him.)

"I'd be happy to discuss the matter further with you, if you're interested, but right now I have an appointment," McCoy said, studiously avoiding the young woman's worshipful gaze.

"Of course, sorry to have bothered you, sir, we're just a little...starstruck, that's all."

"It's all in a day's work," McCoy said, exiting the lift. Despite his casual words, he did feel a decided spring in his step as he made his way down to the Lab. Though the crew of the Jefferson had been decimated by the virus, it was good to know that he had managed to save most of what was left, and though he had not been able to prevent the deaths of Starfleet officers on Ulmexis herself, he felt great relief that the children had survived. That there would be no pointless war was the icing on the cake.

He stepped into Lab 7 and hesitated, looking around. The lab was deserted.

"Damn," he said to the empty room, self consciously peering under a table just in case. Spock was nowhere to be found. Clearly he had moved on in the time it took for McCoy to travel down here, and now he'd have to begin his search anew.

McCoy exited the lab, deciding to head for the bridge next, when he turned a corner and physically collided with the Vulcan he sought. That Spock hadn't noticed him coming indicated something interesting about his state of mind as well, McCoy noted, refusing to step back once he and Spock had sorted themselves out. He stayed well within Spock's personal space, and waited to see what he would do.

What he did was tip his head down and kiss McCoy warmly on the lips.

"Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do," McCoy said, slightly dazed, when they parted.

Spock looked confused. "I do not believe I spoke a greeting."

"No, you didn't. And feel free to greet me that way whenever you want from now on."

Spock's fingers trailed lightly over the hair at McCoy's forehead, brushing it aside. "You are looking well, Leonard."

McCoy felt himself blushing, very aware of the fact that they were in the hallway where anyone could walk by and witness this intimate moment. "Would you come back with me to my quarters?"

Spock hesitated, and McCoy tried not to read too much into that. "I am scheduled for Beta shift, which begins in two point three hours."

"I just want to talk somewhere private," McCoy said, though that wasn't the whole truth. Of course, he'd be happy to just talk if that was all Spock was up for, but he was hoping for slightly more. After all, he reminded himself, it had only been yesterday that Spock was offering him a wilderness handjob, so it wasn't as though sex was off the table entirely.

A beat, and then Spock gave a curt nod, pulling his hands away from McCoy's face and folding them behind his back. He followed McCoy silently back to his quarters, thankfully encountering no one else along the way. Once they were inside with the security protocol enabled on the door, McCoy found himself full of nervous energy. He wanted to sit down, to play it cool, but found that he could not. So, instead he paced a little bit back and forth, while Spock stood impassively, hands still folded behind his back.

"You appear agitated," Spock observed.

McCoy sighed, pushing his hands through his hair. Then an idea struck him. He stepped forward and was surprised to find Spock reaching for him just as he extended his arms. He took the Vulcan's hands in his and looked beseechingly at him, knowing the touch would convey his feelings better than any words.

Spock's brow furrowed slightly. "You are experiencing...fear, nervousness, attraction, lust, and concern all in alternating waves."

"That's about the size of it," McCoy said, his voice shaky.

"Leonard," Spock said, freeing one of his hands, "would it help to know what emotions I am experiencing?"

"Can you do that? Send it back the other way?"

"If you would allow me to meld with you, only briefly," he added no doubt sensing McCoy's obvious distress.

Well, he thought, we are about to get intimate. Can't get much more intimate than that. "All right," McCoy said. "Should I...close my eyes?"

"That is not necessary. Simply continue breathing and allow me to touch your face," Spock said, his voice soft and soothing, settling his fingers on the psi points across McCoy's skin. His hands were so hot they felt like a brand. McCoy stared straight ahead, unable to make eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Then he felt it. A presence, a spectre in his mind that was inside of him, but not of him. The feeling was of warmth, of happiness, of desire. He glanced at Spock, smiling slightly, "Is that you?"

A wave of humor passed through the foreign presence in his head. "Yes, Leonard."

He reached out with his mind and touched the edges of the feelings, watching in his mind's eye as they shifted and changed, from humor to desire, to affection, back to desire. Beneath all of the shifting sands, however, was one constant feeling that McCoy could see clearly no matter what else flashed across the surface. Love. It was love, pure and simple, and a deep love at that. The force of it, and the memories connected to it, of McCoy being brave, and funny, and intelligent, made tears spring to his eyes.

When Spock saw that, he pulled away. "I have upset you."

"No," McCoy said, wiping his eyes hastily. "No, not at all. Spock, I'm touched. I had no idea..."

"You have said that previously. I regret that I did not make the depth of my feelings for you known more clearly. I am unfamiliar with human courting rituals, and made obvious mis-steps in my treatment of you as a result."

"And what is it that you want now...and moving forward," McCoy added, trying to remember that he was dealing with the head rather than the heart.

"I wish for us to extend the successful partnership we have had in our working relationship to a personal arena," Spock said calmly. This speech sounded rehearsed, to McCoy's ears, and the thought made him smile, which he quickly tried to smother. "I wish to spend my leisure time in your presence, if you will permit me. I wish to deepen our intimacy by entering a physical sexual relationship that, should we both find it satisfactory, will continue for as long as determined by our individual needs and desires."

McCoy's head was spinning a little. He opened his mouth to answer that this was exactly what he wanted as well, when Spock stepped back into his personal space and the look in the look in his liquid brown eyes was enough to make breathing impossible altogether.

"I wish to give you pleasure," Spock said.

"I..." McCoy said, unable to find his voice. "Yes, please," he squeaked.

Spock's mouth quirked slightly, as close to a smile as he was ever going to get, and they kissed. McCoy tangled his fingers in Spock's hair, deliberately messing it up as much as possible just to see the result. Their kiss was deep and hot, full of passion, and McCoy tried to broadcast his desire, awe, and amusement as much as possible through their connection. Spock's hairstyle thoroughly destroyed, McCoy let his hands slide to the hem of Spock's shirt, toying with it to let him know his intentions.

Spock pulled back, looking slightly dazed. "Do you wish me to disrobe?"

"If you want to. I don't want to push for anything, Spock. It's, uh, it's been a while since I was intimate with anyone and that may be making me a little impatient, but I want you to know that it's okay if we don't go any further than this."

The Vulcan tilted his head. "I believe you were present no less than 48 hours ago when I offered to manually stimulate you to orgasm."

McCoy blushed. "Well, sure, but that was...different," he finished lamely.

"I do not feel 'different'."

He chuckled. "No, I expect you don't. Well, I suppose you'd like me to stop treating you like a blushing virgin, then."

"It has been some time since I was a virgin, as I have deduced is also the case with you."

"That's a fact," McCoy replied, chuckling. "Though I'm surprised to hear you say that. Part of me thought maybe you'd never made love with anyone, much less another man."

Spock ran a finger along the rounded shell of McCoy's ear, making him shiver. "I confess, my previous sexual encounters have been exclusively with females. I have attempted to counteract this lack of direct experience by observing recorded sexual encounters between two or more male humans, which served to fill some gaps in my knowledge."

McCoy stared at him. "You've been watching porn, Spock?"

"I believe that is what I just said."

Hoping the mood wasn't completely destroyed, but unable to do much about it, McCoy dissolved into hysterical laughter. The mental image of Spock watching gay porn with the same critical eye he used in analyzing soil samples was too funny for words. He leaned against Spock's shoulder, clutching him and nearly sobbing with laughter until, finally, it subsided.

"I am glad I could amuse you," Spock said cooly, though he didn't seem to be upset.

"I'm sorry, it's just...you really did do your homework, didn't you? All for me?"

Spock nodded slightly, then stepped back and slid off his uniform tunic in one smooth movement. He did the same with his undershirt, folding both and setting them on McCoy's coffee table. McCoy had seen him shirtless so much in the past few weeks he thought he might be immune to the sight of him now, but somehow it seemed completely different this way, Spock's skin seeming darker in the low light, the warmth of him so near and exposed. It was different because this time it was for Leonard, and Leonard alone.

"I'd like to touch you," he said quietly.

"I would like that as well," Spock answered, amusement in his deep voice.

McCoy ran his hand up Spock's bicep, up over the sleek muscles of his shoulder and then down the front of his chest, where those curious whorls of hair had been tempting him for weeks now. The hair was surprisingly soft and springy under McCoy's fingers, and Spock's right nipple hardened almost immediately when his hand skated over it, though his face hardly changed at all. McCoy leaned in and kissed him, letting his hands wander above the waist as they devoured each other again. Spock, seemingly impatient, began unfastening his trousers, letting them fall haphazardly around his ankles. McCoy held him close, smoothing his hands up and down against the flesh of Spock's hot back, as the Vulcan ran long fingers through his hair.

"Leonard," Spock said when they broke apart, breathlessly. "I request you disrobe as well."

"Impatient?" McCoy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, and I see no reason to hide it."

That made him laugh, but McCoy did as he was asked, stepping back so he could slide out of his uniform. He was surprised to find that he didn't feel self-conscious in the act, the way he might have with another lover. Spock had seen it all before, only a few days ago, as a matter of fact, and, to be honest, he was feeling rushed as well. Spock's eyes were on him, and his hands followed shortly thereafter, tracing burning lines across his skin.

They kissed again, and when they broke apart McCoy asked quietly, "How do you like to be touched, Spock?"

His forehead crinkled. "I do not understand the question."

"Do you like it gentle," McCoy brushed a gentle finger across Spock's nipple, making him shudder, "or rough?" He gave that same nipple a pinch, not hard, but enough to get the point across. Spock's eyes widened. "Do you understand now?"

"I believe I do. I prefer a firm caress, and I must add that based on my consumption of erotic material that I have a strong preference for playing the dominant role, should there be a need for one."

Now it was McCoy's turn to look confused. "Are you saying that you're a top?"

"I am not familiar with that term."

"You prefer to do the penetrating, if there is any, rather than being penetrated."

Spock nodded, and kissed him briefly. It felt like a reward. "That is correct. Is this acceptable to you?"

McCoy grinned. "Oh yeah, absolutely. It's perfect, actually, because I've always been a bottom with men. The, er, penetrated partner," he added for the sake of clarification. Spock seemed lost in the mental image that conjured up, his expression glazed over.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

McCoy slid his hand down to the front of Spock's standard-issue briefs, and, remembering what Spock had said about a firm touch, began stroking firmly at the erection he found there. He tried to remember everything he knew about Vulcan reproductive organs, and found that the subject was largely unknown to him. It certainly felt like a humanoid penis.

"Spock," he said into the Vulcan's ear, kissing his neck as he did so.

"Leonard, if you wish to engage in rational dialogue, I must insist that you discontinue stimulation of my sexual organ."

"Your dirty talk needs work," McCoy muttered. "I just wanted to ask if there's anything I should know about Vulcan physiology, anything that might make this experience better for you."

Spock drew back slightly to look at him, "You are an attentive lover, Leonard. Thank you for asking."

McCoy blushed. "Well, now, I just want everyone to have a good time is all."

"You are a singular individual," Spock said, cupping his cheek in one hand, and stroking a thumb over McCoy's cheekbone. "Vulcan reproductive physiology is very similar to human's, with the exception of our testes, which are housed internally rather than externally."

"Hm. I hope my balls don't offend you," McCoy teased.

Spock cupped the objects in question gently, making him gasp and tense up, even though he trusted Spock completely. It was still unnerving to have the most sensitive part of his body cradled in hands that he had seen snap a humanoid neck with hardly any effort at all. McCoy forced himself to breathe, and to watch the expression on Spock's serious face as he cradled the man's testicles, rolling them between his fingers and making McCoy gasp audibly.

"I find them agreeable," he concluded.

McCoy laughed. He didn't think he'd ever felt so lighthearted before during sex. He'd always had fun, sure, but never quite like this. But then, he'd never been with someone like Spock before, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this might become damn near addicting.

Spock pulled back, forcing McCoy to withdraw his hand from the other man's briefs, and slid smoothly to his knees. "I would like to please you orally, Leonard," he said, strong hands on McCoy's hips, dark eyes staring up at him. McCoy could have come right then and there, in fact it took effort not to do so. He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he tried to steady himself. "Yes, I, uh, I'd like that. Please."

"I request that you do not ejaculate, if possible, as I would prefer to bring you to orgasm while penetrating you."

"Oh my god, Spock. You're gonna have to cool it with that kind of talk or I'm going to 'ejaculate' right here and now."

Spock looked up at him, his expression almost teasing. "You said yourself Leonard, communication is key." And then he leaned forward, wrapping his lips around McCoy's erect cock and swallowing the damn thing down to the hilt.

"Jesus jumped-up Christ!" McCoy yelled, steadying himself on Spock's bare shoulders as gravity very slowly reasserted itself. "Fuck, Spock."

Spock did not pause for comment this time, but continued his assault on McCoy's senses, licking a wet stripe up the underside of McCoy's dick all the way to the tip, where he wrapped his lips around the head in a gentle, almost loving, caress and began to suck. McCoy's legs were shaking, his head spinning. He said a lot of things, letting his mouth run wild, and figuring that none of it made any sense at all. He was too far gone to care. *Spock*, his Spock was here on his knees giving him the most spectacular blow job of his considered experience, and in a minute he was going to be penetrated by the damned pointy-eared sex god, and it was all just too, too, too much for McCoy's fragile human mind.

"Spock," he said suddenly, tapping him on the shoulder. "Spock, stop."

He drew back immediately, looking up at McCoy. His mouth was wet and swollen, utterly debauched. McCoy could have died in that moment and he would have gone to meet his maker with a satisfied grin firmly in place.

"If you don't want me to...you know, come you're gonna have to give me a break. That was...outstanding."

"You are pleased?" Spock asked, eyebrows wrinkling.

"Absolutely. Come here to the bed and let me show you how much," he said, offering a hand, which Spock took, and together they walked towards the bed. McCoy turned and gently pushed Spock until he was sitting, then knelt before him, tugging gently on the Vulcan's briefs until he got the message and helpfully removed them. But rather than start stimulating Spock's penis, which was no doubt what he expected, McCoy turned his attention to those damned fascinating pointy ears, bending down so he could lick gently across the tip of one. Spock stiffened, and made the tiniest noise. McCoy couldn't tell whether it was a sound of distress, or pleasure, so he drew back to look at Spock's face. His eyes were closed, lashes sweeping against his cheeks, and his mouth, still shiny with moisture, was partly open. He didn't look distressed. So, McCoy went back to it, giving his attention to Spock's ears, then his neck, and finally his dark nipples, partly concealed in all that chest hair.

"Do Vulcan's have sensitive nipples?" he asked, when playing with them produced little result.

"Yes," Spock answered simply, his breath reedy.

"Are you *meditating* right now?" McCoy asked, amused.

"I am attempting to regain control over my physical senses," Spock explained. "Lest I achieve orgasm prematurely."

"Ah. Well, it happens to the best of us," McCoy chuckled, but laid off of Spock's nipples for a while. He settled himself between Spock's legs, giving his aching dick a single hard stroke to tide him over. Then he nuzzled the trail of hair leading down Spock's abdomen, kidding the juncture where thigh met groin, but without touching Spock's erection. The body beneath him shivered, flesh pimpling into goosebumps. *Fascinating*, McCoy thought, smiling. Then he drew back enough to make eye contact with Spock, who was watching him with unflinching intensity. He slid his mouth onto Spock's cock slowly, taking it in inch by inch until it knocked against the back of his throat and McCoy had to steady his breathing to avoid gagging.

Spock gasped, and threw his head back, and it was everything McCoy could have hoped or dreamed. Exceeded his dreams, even. He never thought that he would drive Spock to such *illogical* behavior, but here they were. McCoy took his time, acclimating to the smoothness and saltiness of Spock's penis, giving his throat a little more practice before finally swallowing him down completely. When he did that, hands came down on his shoulders and Spock gasped, "Leonard!" in a tone that was half surprise and half outrage. Clearly McCoy had no choice but to do it again. And again. And again, until Spock's dick was thickly covered by his saliva and the Vulcan was nearly sobbing with pleasure, his strong hands clenching the muscles in McCoy's shoulders so hard it was painful. He seemed utterly out of control, unsure whether he wanted McCoy to stop, or keep going forever. Then, without warning, his abdomen tensed up and Spock let out a guttural animal groan, his entire body curling in onto itself as his thighs squeezed McCoy's abdomen hard enough to bruise. He was coming, and McCoy steadied himself to take his semen, which, surprisingly, never followed.

He pulled off, sitting back on his heels and putting a hand on his throbbing dick. "Did you orgasm?" he asked.

"Yes," Spock muttered. A faint green flush painted his high cheekbones. "I apologize. I was overcome without warning."

McCoy grinned. "Don't apologize. That was hot as hell, I'll keep that image in my mind for the rest of my life." He stood up on protesting knees and kissed Spock, trying to reassure him. "You didn't, ah, ejaculate much."

"Vulcans do not produce emissions unless we are actively in heat."

"Ah, that explains it. Why waste the resources unless you're trying to procreate."

"Precisely," Spock said, and his hot fingers found their way around McCoy's cock, stroking firmly from root to tip. McCoy leaned against his shoulder, groaning loudly. "I greatly enjoy the sounds you produce during copulation."

"I'm...glad," McCoy moaned. "God damn, that feels good. And - oh," he said, surprised to find Spock's dick stirring against his hip. He glanced down at it and then grinned at the Vulcan. "You recover damn quickly."

"Vulcans are capable of copulating for many hours and, in some cases, days. Is this not typical for humans?"

McCoy coughed, "I'm sorry, I'm still focused on 'days'."

"During Vulcan mating season, a male has been known to copulate continuously for up to seventy-two hours before his stamina flags."

"Christ," McCoy said, arching his back as Spock hit a particularly good spot. "You're turning me on."

"That is my desire, Leonard. *You* are my desire."

McCoy's legs were shaking, and he needed to sit soon or he was going to fall over and end the entire affair with a head injury. He pulled away slowly, nearly crying as Spock's fingers slid slowly off of him. His next stop was the bedside table, where a tube of personal lubricant was stashed. He tried not to feel too embarrassed about this revelation - he was a doctor after all, and lay the tube next to Spock on the bed. Then he climbed onto the covers, lying back against his pillow and battering the nervous butterflies fluttering in his gut. This is real, he thought, this is really happening.

Spock picked up the lube, but did not ask its purpose as McCoy half expected him to. Apparently his 'research' had educated him well enough on the subject that he did not need to inquire further. He simply adjusted himself so he was kneeling between McCoy's spread legs, popping the cap on the bottle, which sounded incredibly loud in the silent room.

"I'll need some preparation," McCoy said, "it's been a long, long time for me."

"Understood. I will enjoy it," Spock practically purred, smearing lubricant across his fingers with a precision no human could have managed. He spread another generous dollop across McCoy's anus, making him jump at both the temperature and the pressure. He was feeling suddenly nervous, remembering how uncomfortable this act had been when he'd attempted it in college, how sore he had been the next few days. He knew now that his discomfort could largely be blamed on inadequate preparation and insufficient lubrication, but the memory was still strong and slowed his lust down a bit.

Spock's eyes were on his face, curious and attentive, as he gently probed McCoy's body with one long, hot finger. He pressed and receded, never going too far or too fast, but testing the limits of what his body would accept with all of his considerable attention turned to the task. And fuck, that was hot.

"That feels good," he said in a husky voice.

"I am pleased," Spock answered, his voice deep and resonant and going straight to McCoy's dick.

"You're making me want more, Spock. Fuck me with your fingers," he pleaded.

The Vulcan's eyes widened momentarily. "Your use of vulgar language is strangely arousing."

"You like it?"

"I do," he admitted, looking slightly abashed.

"Do you want me to continue using my filthy mouth while you fuck me? Mm?"

"Yes," Spock breathed, and breached McCoy with one of his fingers, moving slowly and curling the tip under so that it just barely brushed McCoy's prostate and damn near sent him flying off the bed.

"Ah, hell! That's it! God!"

Not one to shy away from a promising pattern, Spock did the move again, this time striking McCoy's prostate with his finger directly and looking vaguely amused when his lover nearly came off the bed.

"You...you're killing me," McCoy wheezed, chuckling.

"I trust you have made peace with the deity of your choice," Spock said, stroking his penis with lube as he shifted into position.

"Was that a joke?"

"Now is hardly the time for levity."

"You're telling me."

"Are you ready?"

Just those words spoken with such earnest anticipation were enough to send him over the edge. McCoy had to squeeze the base of his dick to forestall the orgasm that threatened to derail them. He was a grown man, damn it, not some eager teenager and yet this is what he had been reduced to. It would have been embarrassing if it weren't so damn arousing.

"Fuck me, Spock. Fuck me hard," he said, staring into the Vulcan's eyes.

"As you wish," was the reply as Spock began to gently push his way into McCoy's body.

It was a good thing they had prepared, though it hardly felt like enough at the moment. His cock felt huge, an invasion that took McCoy's breath away and made him clench his eyes shut until Spock stopped thrusting and settled inside of him oddly still. It also had the added effect of cooling his arousal, momentarily removing the threat of premature ejaculation.

"You are in pain," Spock observed, chagrined.

"Like I said, it's been a while. Just...just give me a minute to adjust."

Hot fingers curled around his flagging cock and McCoy's eyes flew open to watch as he was stroked back to hardness with purpose.

"You are beautiful, Leonard. I desire you."

All he could do was smile. "The feeling's mutual, you pointy-eared tease."

"Tease?" Spock asked with a shallow thrust of his hips. The motion bumped McCoy's prostate and all at once he was reminded why fucking was the actual best thing in the world. Spock was smearing precome all over his cock while gently riding his prostate and nothing else in the entire universe mattered but the moment the two of them were sharing.

McCoy groaned, throwing his head back and reaching out blindly to touch his lover. His hand came to rest on Spock's forearm, pulling him down on top of McCoy and angling his body so they could kiss as Spock's thrusts became deeper. When they parted, Spock rested their sweaty foreheads together, his breathing erratic. He looked a mess, disheveled and completely undone. McCoy mentally gave himself a gold star and then dove immediately back into the depths of pleasure. Each groan that was pulled from his chest was nearly a sob. Every atom in his body was alive, throwing sparks as their bodies came together again and again.

And then he was at the point of no return. It was far too soon, but he wasn't about to try and stop himself.

"I'm going to come," he managed, panting and stroking his cock as Spock sped up his thrusts, nodding in acknowledgement. "I'm gonna come for you, right now, right...now!"

Spock milked him through his orgasm and then bore down in earnest, fucking McCoy so hard and fast it was nearly painful. But the sharp edge of the discomfort only seemed to enhance his pleasure, leaving McCoy shouting and clinging to him as Spock rode out his second orgasm, gasping against McCoy's sweaty neck and clutching his body with bruising force.

"Fuck, holy God," McCoy wheezed. Then, surprising both of them, he giggled.

Spock pulled back and looked at him, a little crinkle in between his eyebrows. "Are you well?"

"Am I well? Are you crazy? I'm fantastic! Just a little giddy, I suppose. I may have deprived my brain from oxygen there at the end."

The eyebrow-wrinkle relaxed. "I am pleased to hear it."

"And you?" McCoy asked, not wanting to fish too obviously but unable to help himself.

"I experienced great sexual satisfaction as well as intimacy," Spock answered matter-of-factly.

"Gold star for me, then."

"I do not un-"

"Nevermind, darlin'," McCoy said, and kissed him. "It's not important. The only thing that's important is this, right here and right now."

Sometimes it seemed like emergencies only happened in the middle of the night. On this particular night, the call came in while McCoy was dozing in post-coital haze with a very hot set of arms around his waist. It was with a great deal of complaining that he extricated himself from the cocoon of warmth and contentment and slid into his uniform.

Spock watched him from the bed, head propped on his hand. McCoy was still getting used to seeing the Vulcan in these moments of repose, hair in disarray, an unusual softness about his features. He was almost smiling as he watched McCoy fuss.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," McCoy said, dropping a kiss on Spock's wide forehead.

"I will be here, Leonard."

And really, McCoy thought as he stepped into the brightly-lit corridor, what more could he ever ask for?

<<<<>>>>


End file.
